I normally do a small write up for the 15th April every year, this year I tried, I just could not come up with something that I was satisfied with, so I started to scratch online..
The following comes form Eye of the Firestorm, written by Roland de Vries. I hope he wont mind me using some of his excellent writing here.
"This was how Captain Jan Malan told me his story and how it was written in his report (translated from Afrikaans):
“With my arrival at Tsintsabis I met the tracker team of
Lieutenant Daan van der Westhuizen for the first time (the husband of
the legendary Tannie Pompie) and his son-in-law, Rifleman Hendrik
Potgieter. There were five Bushmen trackers in his team.
After a quick marrying-up and a motivational talk to my platoon, we left
for the area were the enemy tracks had been found. Just before we left
Tsintsabis, Hendrik Potgieter still remarked how joyful it was to work
with such motivated and dedicated men.
The trackers travelled with us, mounted on top of our Ratels. As we
moved along the Bravo cut-line, the Bushman maintained close watch for
signs and tracks of the enemy. We proceeded westwards along the Bravo.
As we approached the alleged enemy crossing site we observed numerous
sheets of white paper strewn about, alongside the cut-line.
When we reached the suspect area I instructed my men to dismount from
the Ratels. We approached in open formation on foot. Closer inspection
revealed that the white papers lying around were typical SWAPO propaganda pamphlets.
The next moment one of the Bushman trackers came to an abrupt halt. He
pointed to a suspect area in the sandy track. I halted our search and
marked the suspect area with a mine marker I had on me. I then tasked
the trackers to do an all-round search of the area. The trackers
reported that there were three enemy tracks leading in a southerly
direction.
We found shallow trenches alongside the northern edge of the cut-line,
which had been prepared by the enemy. The signs on the ground indicated
clearly that the enemy had evacuated their positions hastily the
previous night. We found a clear path of approximately twenty tracks
left by the enemy. The tracks lead in a north-westerly direction.
After a brief discussion with Van der Westhuizen and Potgieter, we
decided to do a 360° search of the suspect area. This was to determine
exactly where the enemy tracks were leading to. All of us were in
agreement that the enemy tracks would most likely swing back and cross
the cut-line in a southerly direction. The reason for this was that the
infiltration direction obviously, should lead in the direction of the
farms to the south.
It was now about 10h45 and the trackers indicated that the tracks were
approximately twelve hours old. At this stage I gave feed-back to
Commandant Roland de Vries at the Tsintsabis tactical headquarters by
radio. My suggestion was to carry on with the search. My battalion
commander agreed with me.
The plan was now for one infantry section to move to the south of the
cut-line and to search for enemy tracks 200m in a westerly direction. At
the same time Lieutenant Daan van der Westhuizen, with the remainder of
the trackers and another infantry section, continued with the search to
the north in a westerly direction for 200m.
The terrain alongside the cut-line, in both directions, was extremely
dense. From the moment Ratel 12A, with van der Westhuizen on board,
left, they were out of my sight.
Daan van der Westhuizen, apparently occupying the Ratel turret, reported
that the enemy tracks were leading in a westerly direction. The next
moment there were maddening explosions and rippling small-arms fire
coming from the receding Ratel’s direction.
I immediately recognised that the fire was not coming from the Ratel’s
20mm quick firing gun. I tried to call the section on the radio, but
there was no answer. I immediately deployed the remainder of the
platoon and started moving in the direction where the fire was coming
from. The bush was dense and our movement was slowed down considerably.
At one o’clock from our position in front of us we observed two 300m
signal flares bursting in the sky. By now the small-arms fire had
ceased.
I instantly reported our dilemma to my battalion commander at Tsintsabis
and requested the gunships. Without more ado the Alouette gunships were
airborne and flying towards us. We then sighted our burning Ratel. My
troops dismounted into an open formation as we moved forward. We did not
fire for fear of hitting our own people – those soldiers who could
possibly be in front of us. At that same moment two of our soldiers came
running anxiously towards our left-front. They were streaked with blood
and totally shocked.
The two soldiers reported to me that they had driven right into an
ambush with their Ratel and that many of their section members had been
killed.
Massive black clouds and flames were erupting from the Ratel. I deployed
two of our sections and moved them to the other side of the burning
Ratel where they took up a defensive position.
There were no signs of enemy. Accompanied by the platoon commander I
quickly moved towards the burning Ratel. We peered inside and it was
obvious that nobody was alive. At this stage the ammunition inside the
Ratel started exploding and the roof-hatches were blown sky-high.
All around the burning Ratel I found our remaining soldiers of the
section. They were all wounded and shocked. The medical orderly, company
HQ and platoon HQ personnel removed the wounded to a safer area, away
from the dangerous explosions. They rendered first aid to our wounded
fellow soldiers.
At that moment the Alouette gunships arrived. I indicated to them the
assumed direction the enemy had retreated. Approximately one kilometre
further west of our position we heard the gunships firing at the ground.
In the meantime I had requested the HQ at Tsintsabis to dispatch the two
Puma helicopters for casualty evacuation. The Puma’s were on their way
without delay.
We had by now adopted an all-round defence and started preparing a
helicopter landing zone while the Ratel was burning profusely. The tyres
were causing columns of black smoke and internal explosions ripped
large pieces off the hull. The Pumas landed and our dead and wounded
were taken on board and flown south to Grootfontein.
The gunships were still firing into the bushes to the west of us.. One of the gunships evaded a SAM-7 which had been fired in retaliation by the enemy from the ground. The crews reported three possible terrorist kills.
I then followed up with two sections in the direction of the contact. We found the three bodies as well as the SAM-7. One of the dead terrorists was later identified as a section leader.
I had lost a total of eight men killed in this one ambush.
It was later confirmed that one enemy platoon had been tasked to lay an
ambush on the cutline to serve as deception for the other enemy groups
to infiltrate across into the farming area. Five mines were later lifted
by our engineers in the area where the ambush had been sprung.
The enemy had left a clear trail for us to follow. The ambush had been
carefully planned and cleverly set up. It was in the form of a
horse-shoe. It was located in a thicker part of the forest on the verge
of a more open area. The enemy had prepared shallow trenches for their RPG-7s, SKS rifle grenades and machine guns. We found the position for the SAM-7 and a 60mm mortar as well.
Our Ratel was allowed to approach to within 15-20m before the enemy
opened fire. It was later found that the Ratel had been penetrated by
seven RPG-7 rockets and rifle grenades.
The enemy platoon returned to Angola after they had completed their mission.”
This was a sad story, was it not? Sad stories happen to own and enemy alike…
I felt deeply for Jan Malan, his soldiers, their loved ones, even
myself. I could never describe to anyone what I felt that one tragic
morning in the war…
…If you can meet with triumph and disaster… If you could risk it on
one turn of pitch-and-toss… with sixty seconds worth of distance ran.
We had now lost ten of our young in one day, eight of them taken in one fell swoop…
Yours is the earth and everything that’s in it… Which is more…? You were men, my sons!
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew, to serve your turn long after they are gone, and hold on.
What more was there to utter?
What was heart-rending was that Tannie Pompie van der Westhuizen,
close by on their farm Koedoesvlei, was monitoring the crisis over her
radios. She was calmly relaying Jan Malan’s radio messages to me to help
with the dispatching of the helicopters and the evacuation of the dead
and the wounded. Only then could I hear that she was at her tethers. I
asked Padre Koos Rossouw, our chaplain, to console her over the radio.
Koos Rossouw and the Van der Westhuizens had become good friends, as all
of 61 Mech were. As soon as one of the Pumas returned from Grootfontein
I had Koos Rossouw flown to her farm.
The ambush of 15 April 1982…This was how Operation Yahoo for 61 Mech and the community began.
When I found some quiet in the night the following week, I wrote a
citation for a brave man. This was for the Honoris Crux Decoration of
Lieutenant Daan van der Westhuizen. He had died under the banner of 61
Mech. The decoration was long outstanding; he should already have
received it for Operation Carrot in 1981 – undoubting service to others
under extremely dangerous situations.
In memoriam, the names of eight brave soldiers…
Second Lieutenant D.R. van der Westhuizen, HC.
Corporal M.J. van Jaarsveld.
Lance Corporal J.J. van den Berg.
Rifleman M. Peterson.
Rifleman J.H. Potgieter.
Rifleman B.J. Wolfaardt.
Bushman Tracker, Jan Kouswab.
Bushman Tracker, Unknown.
The intense burning of the stricken Ratel only allowed us to recover
the remains of our men two days later and move the wreck to the Tsumeb
airfield.
That particular morning in the war had been heart rendering for the
soul. It is hard for any commander to lose soldiers in combat, for
their comrades it is the same. What about the loved ones in South Africa
and SWA. Those who did not know yet…?
This was only the first day. The battle was not over yet!
Fortunately friction de guerre visits the enemy too. Finesse lies in
making it happen more to the foe. This implies wresting the initiative
from the enemy and keeping it. This was what Operation Yahoo was all
about…
Let us successfully complete Operation Yahoo now – first things
first. Let the Winter Games commence and be successfully completed once
again.
There was work to be done, Giel Reinecke, Gerrie Hugo! What is next on our action list?
The closing of 15 April 1982 was upon us. There will be no 15th of April 1982 again. Only the memories and the aching remained.
It was time to move our small command team to the Tsumeb airfield,
brief the incoming forces, take control, deploy the plan, and carry on –
swiftly. Seek forward ground (when you can keep your head…)"
WE WILL NEVER FORGET!
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Terug na my wortels... Koedoesvlei.
Ons
ry op die Tsintsabis pad Koedoesvlei toe.. Alles lyk bekend, maar tog
ook nie... die motor is doodstil binne, daar speel nie eers musiek nie.
Ek is baie besig met my eie gedagtes. Ek sien bekende name, Concordia,
dit was Hendrik se plaas waardeur die Omaramba geloop het. Ons het baie
daar gaan piekniek as daar water was. Pa hulle het n vlot gebou en so
het ons oor die rivier gekom by die pos om te sorg vir water vir die
diere.
n Entjie verder het die pad n T aansluiting
gemaak... NOU is ons naby. Die plaas Vaalwater le regs. Oom Rassie
Erasmus was ons buurman en is ook vermoor in 82 toe hy n landmyn
afgetrap het. As ons links draai le Platsak regs van ons.. Daar het Oom
Dicky en Tannie Baba van Reenen gebly toe ek n kind was, voor my pa
hulle se dood. Daarna was dit oom George en Tannie Santjie Thomas. Thursday, March 5, 2015
Koos le Roux writes about my Mum.
Goeie more,
My naam is Koos le Roux. Ek
was nooit in die Weermag nie, maar in die Polisie te Rundu
Veiligheidstak en dan later in Koevoet Kavango.
Ek het
ongelukkig nooit jou ouers ontmoet nie, maar ek het Hendrik ontmoet die
oggend van die dag waarop hulle gesterf het. Ek het Jan Kaka ook geken.
Maar eers van Tant Pompies. Ek wou haar vreeslik graag ontmoet en
net n soen en druk gee vir die ongevraagde hulp en aanmoediging wat
gekom het op die tyd wanneer ek dit die nodigste gehad het. Daar was
ongelukkig nooit n geleentheid om dit te doen nie. Vandag besef ek dat
ek net eenvoudig tyd moes maak, maar.....
Dit was tydens die infiltrasie twee jaar voor jou Pa-hulle se
tragedie. Daar was oral opvolge aan die gang en die radios was besig. Ek
was saam met A/O van der Westhuizen en twee swart kolegas van die
Veiligheidstak op Rundu besig om tien spore te volg noord van die
Mangetti.. Ons het met n Land Cruiser en n Hilux bakkie gewerk, een
agter elke stuurwiel en een met sy geweer agter op elke bak, n Boesman
op die spoor. Duidelik was ons glad nie ingerig om kontak te maak nie en
het dringend die hulp van n vegspan van een of ander aard verlang.
Ons radio vermoens was beperk tot n TR 28 wat eers opgeslaan moes
word en ingestel moes word voordat daar na ons kantoor geroep kon word.
Koms was baie swak en ons was reeds vir die tweede dag op hierdie spore
sonder dat ons koms kon bewerkstellig. Ek moet weer beklemtoon dat ons
nie gereed was om met hulle kontak te maak nie, maar net die spoor
gevolg het om n vegspan se werk makliker te maak.
Teen die middel van die tweede dag, terwyl ek weer pobeer het om
met enige Polisie-roepsein kontak te maak, het hierdie engelstem op die
lug gekom en gevra ek moet my identifiseer, sy ken nie die roepsein nie.
Ek het met dankbaarheid gese wie ek is en wat my posisie was en dat ek
hulp soek. Haar antwoord was: "Jaag hulle, Boetie, jag hulle, ek sal
hulp by jou uitkry!" Sy het. Daardie aand het Chris de Witt se
Koevoetspan, Zulu Whiskey, by ons oornag en die volgende oggend vroeg
was hulle aan die hardloop. Weens die baie opvolge wat aan die gang was,
kon ons nie lugsteun in die vorm van "gunships" kry nie, maar het Tant
Pompies wat uit haar eie na ons frekwensie oorgeskakel het, vir ons
n vastevlerk met n wakker vlienier gekry. Met sy hulp het twee van die
vyand vroegdag al gegroet. Tant Pompies was gou met gelukwense en
weereens n "Jaag hulle boeties, jag hulle"
Ten tyde van jou Pa-hulle se dood het ek my eie Koevoetspan gehad.
Ons was die eerste om met daardie groep vyand kontak te maak. Eers binne
die Mangetti-plase en toe op n plaas wes van Tsinstabis. Ek onthou die
plaas se naam was iets met Kalk..... Ons het geen verliese gehad nie en
was dankbaar om met hulle te kon afreken.
As ek reg onthou het nie een van daardie infiltrasie-groep Angola weer lewendig gehaal nie.
Ek
kan jou verseker dat jou Pa in al die manne, Weermag, Polisie en boere
wat daardie tyd daar was, se herinneringe as n held voortleef. Dieselfde
geld ook vir jou Ma, wat as gevolg van haar besondere toegewyde diens
met die radio-komunikasie aan baie meer manne as die "onbekende" Tannie
Pompies bekend was.
Groete .
Koos le Roux.
Friday, February 27, 2015
Die Swart Pan
Die Swart Pan Februarie 2015
Waar begin ek? Seker by die begin ne? --
Monday, April 14, 2014
74846544
Liewe Pappa,
Dis 32 jaar later, elke jaar word dit meer en tog voel dit steeds soos net gister.. en sommige dae voel dit weer soveel langer.
Ek het groot geword... (met moeite
sou Mamma seker se) en toe nooit getrou nie... Pa het mos altyd gese ek
gaan nie trou nie, ek gaan vir Pappa oppas as Pa die dag oud is. Ek het
vir n rukkie vir Mamma opgepas, so baklei baklei.. maar ons het mekaar
verstaan. Ek is haar dankbaar vir al die stories wat sy so lief was om
te vertel. Ek het soms net met n halwe oor geluister.. maar tog onthou
ek alles goed. Sy het Pappa so baie gemis, dit was soms moeilik om te
aanskou.
Intussen het ons famielietjie groter geword in die hemel,
eers Pa se kleinseun Neels, toe Mannetjie en laasjaar ousus Retha en
kort daarna Duppie. Nog net ek en Olivia oor hier.
Ek
onthou hoe ons dae lank in die veld gesit het by die houtkappers onder
die lorrie en Pappa vir my goed geleer het soos die fonetiese alfabet.
Ek ken hom steeds uit my kop uit... Alpa, bravo, charlie.. .... ! Net
soos ek Pa se kommando nommer nog steeds onthou... 74846544 KV.
Ek
onthou hoe ek net 2 ordentlike pakslae's by Pa gekry het, en elke keer
was daar oor ryp tamaties en diere betrokke. N oor ryp tamatie ontplof
dan so lekker op n bees of hond se boud! Ek is vandag nog lief vir
tamaties, my hele tuin is vol van die goed. Pa sou seker nie baie trots
op my gewees het nie, want ek is lui om hulle op te lei! Ek onthou hoe
ek die siektes van tamaties boekie uit my kop geken het nog voor ek kon
lees of skryf. Dis al wat ek gehad het om te lees in die ure en dae en
maande wat ons vier uur in die oggend opgestaan het om tamaties te pluk
en sorteer en was en pak... Pa het my alles geleer, met baie geduld.
Die
jare het aangestap, en Pappa, ek het vrede gemaak. Met die hulp van
wonderlike mense wat Pa en Ma na al hierdie jare nog nie vergeet het
nie. Vir soveel jare was ek in die donker en het ek gedink dis net ek
wat julle onthou, toe ontdek ek die internet, en daar gaan n nuwe wereld
vir my oop. Pappa en Mamma is die held en heldin van soveel wonderlike
mense, wat vir julle soveel respek het. Julle werk hier is nie vergete
nie, en sal nooit wees nie. Daarvoor sal ek sorg.
Pappa
en Mamma sou nou oud gewees het, en julle is nie hier dat ek vir julle
kan sorg nie, maar ek sal sorg dat julle nagedagtenis behoue bly, en dat
dit nooit vergeet sal word nie.
Ons sal julle nooit vergeet nie. We will never forget.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
My gedagtes
15 April kruip weer
nader, sommige jare gaan dit beter as ander... hierdie jaar is weer een
van die minder goeies. Soos ek ouer word verander my gedagtes en
gevoelens ook.
Ek mis die plaas, ONS plaas, bome, reen en donderstorms.Ek mis die stap saam met my pa en die honde en ape na die reen, ek mis die op de stoep sit en na die reen kyk saam met my pa... meeste van alles mis ek MY PA!
Die jaar het ek so effe gaan vashaak by die wonder oor HOE my lewe sou wees as hy bly leef het daai dag. Die plaas sou nie verkoop word nie, daai is ek seker van. So ek sou seker dan nie in Swakop gebly het nou nie. Ek sou hom soveel meer jare nog kon he, by hom kon leer want hy het die wereld se geduld met my gehad en nooit sommer net n antwoord gegee net om van my ontslae te raak nie.
Ek is nie meer n kind nie maar besef as dit by my gedagtes oor hom kom ek regtig nie baie volwasse dink nie. Seker maar omdat ek daar gaan vassteek het waar ek maar net 11 jaar oud was. Hoe sou my lewe uitgedraai het? Sou ek een of ander tyd besef het hy is net n gewone mens, man? Dat hy nie alles is en was wat ek vandag nog dink hy is nie. Die verpersoonliking van die perfekte man en geen man nog by hom eers NAASTENBY kon kersvas hou in my lewe nie. Sou ek besef dat hy foute gehad het, karaktertrekke waarvan ek dalk nie veel gehou het nie? Ek glo nie, maar dis moontlik!!! Sou my maatstaf van mans anders wees?
Sou my ma langer geleef het as die skamele 63 jaar wat sy vir ons geleen was? Daarvan is ek amper dood seker ja, want sy het van dag een wat hy gesterf het tot die dag wat sy ons verlaat het konstant gese sy verlang hom en wil na hom toe gaan. Dit beteken ek sou nie op 25 sonder ouers gesit het nie, ek sou ouers he by wie ek raad kon vra, dis die ding wat ek die meeste mis, en al male sonder tel het ek gewens ek kan net vir n paar minute met hulle praat om raad te vra oor groot besluite, en probleme.
My broer, susters, sou dit hulle lewens beinvloed? Watse mense sou ons wees HOE sou ons anders wees sou hy nie 15 April 82 gesterf het nie? Maar meeste van alles, hoe sou dit my lewe anders gemaak het?
Ek weet meeste mense dink nie in soveel detail aan dit wat kon anders wees as een enkele ding in hulle lewens anders gebeur het nie, maar ek moet se ek fantaseer nie oor dievmoontlikhede hiervan nie, ek bepeins dit, soos die Engles man se.. ek "dissect" dit... trek dit uitmekaar, bestudeer dit in die fynste detail.
Ek glo ek sou die mens wees wat ek vandag is, net ryker emotioneel en in karakter want ek sou HOM he om my te lei en begelei deur die moeilike dele.
Ek gaan Tsumeb toe hierdie naweek, ek wil grafte toe gaan, gaan skoonmaak, nie net die grafte nie maar ook my siel.
Tog as nagedagte is ek bly en voel ek geerd om sulke uitstaande mense gehad as ouers. Ek moet berus dat alles lessies en skoolgeld is, ek het n les gehad om te leer in hierdie leeftyd.
After all life treated me kindly, I lost a lot but i didn't lost everything, I got such fond memories that I can carry with me for ever.
Life is a journey, enjoy the ride!
Ek mis die plaas, ONS plaas, bome, reen en donderstorms.Ek mis die stap saam met my pa en die honde en ape na die reen, ek mis die op de stoep sit en na die reen kyk saam met my pa... meeste van alles mis ek MY PA!
Die jaar het ek so effe gaan vashaak by die wonder oor HOE my lewe sou wees as hy bly leef het daai dag. Die plaas sou nie verkoop word nie, daai is ek seker van. So ek sou seker dan nie in Swakop gebly het nou nie. Ek sou hom soveel meer jare nog kon he, by hom kon leer want hy het die wereld se geduld met my gehad en nooit sommer net n antwoord gegee net om van my ontslae te raak nie.
Ek is nie meer n kind nie maar besef as dit by my gedagtes oor hom kom ek regtig nie baie volwasse dink nie. Seker maar omdat ek daar gaan vassteek het waar ek maar net 11 jaar oud was. Hoe sou my lewe uitgedraai het? Sou ek een of ander tyd besef het hy is net n gewone mens, man? Dat hy nie alles is en was wat ek vandag nog dink hy is nie. Die verpersoonliking van die perfekte man en geen man nog by hom eers NAASTENBY kon kersvas hou in my lewe nie. Sou ek besef dat hy foute gehad het, karaktertrekke waarvan ek dalk nie veel gehou het nie? Ek glo nie, maar dis moontlik!!! Sou my maatstaf van mans anders wees?
Sou my ma langer geleef het as die skamele 63 jaar wat sy vir ons geleen was? Daarvan is ek amper dood seker ja, want sy het van dag een wat hy gesterf het tot die dag wat sy ons verlaat het konstant gese sy verlang hom en wil na hom toe gaan. Dit beteken ek sou nie op 25 sonder ouers gesit het nie, ek sou ouers he by wie ek raad kon vra, dis die ding wat ek die meeste mis, en al male sonder tel het ek gewens ek kan net vir n paar minute met hulle praat om raad te vra oor groot besluite, en probleme.
My broer, susters, sou dit hulle lewens beinvloed? Watse mense sou ons wees HOE sou ons anders wees sou hy nie 15 April 82 gesterf het nie? Maar meeste van alles, hoe sou dit my lewe anders gemaak het?
Ek weet meeste mense dink nie in soveel detail aan dit wat kon anders wees as een enkele ding in hulle lewens anders gebeur het nie, maar ek moet se ek fantaseer nie oor dievmoontlikhede hiervan nie, ek bepeins dit, soos die Engles man se.. ek "dissect" dit... trek dit uitmekaar, bestudeer dit in die fynste detail.
Ek glo ek sou die mens wees wat ek vandag is, net ryker emotioneel en in karakter want ek sou HOM he om my te lei en begelei deur die moeilike dele.
Ek gaan Tsumeb toe hierdie naweek, ek wil grafte toe gaan, gaan skoonmaak, nie net die grafte nie maar ook my siel.
Tog as nagedagte is ek bly en voel ek geerd om sulke uitstaande mense gehad as ouers. Ek moet berus dat alles lessies en skoolgeld is, ek het n les gehad om te leer in hierdie leeftyd.
After all life treated me kindly, I lost a lot but i didn't lost everything, I got such fond memories that I can carry with me for ever.
Life is a journey, enjoy the ride!
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Ek onthou
Ek vang myself
dikwels dat ek aan die aand van 11 Mei 1978 dink. Ek onthou die datum
omdat dit die aand voor my 9de verjaarsdag was.
Daar was weer infiltrasies, wat meen my Pa en Hendrik was uit op spore. Ja dis wat ons dit genoem het, of hulle het gaan terries jaag.
Iemand, kan my pa wees, het my ma laat weet dit lyk of die terrs in die rigtig van ons huis beweeg. Die generator is afgesit, die werkers is gese om nie vure te maak nie en ons het die gordyne toe getrek in die huis.My ma het voor die radio gebly en die groot en baie swaar ystertafel wat Hendrik daar in die kombuis vir my ma aanmekaar gesweis het is na die hoek van die kombuis langs die venster gedra. Daaronder is daar bed vir my en Louis gemaak. Ek was amper 9 en hy was dan so 3 of so.
Die army ouens en Olivia het om die tafel by kerslig gesit en kaart gespeel na ete. Ons moes stil wees. My ma het soos altyd half gebukkend voor die radio gesit en baie aandagtig geluister, nou en dan gepraat en dan weer geluister. Dit was asof sy ons nie gehoor het nie, net die radio's. Sou ons bietjie harder begin praat is gou vertel ons the sjuuuut!!
Ek was bang.. want my ma het reg voor die venster gesit, en ons was uit die vuur uit, maar sy was reg in die lyn van vuur. More was my 9de verjaarsdag, ek het gewonder of my pa daar sou wees.. ek het gewonder of ek sou 9 word.
Ek kan nie onthou of ek daar aan die slaap geraak het en of ek in my bed gaan slaap het nie. Dit was n lang aand, dis al wat ek kan onthou.
Die volgende oggend het ons soos gewoonlik wakker geword, en dit was n normale dag. Toe se my ma sy het n groot geskenk vir my... ek wou dadelik die geskenk he... maar sy het gese ek moet wag, dit kom later.
Daar was n helse lawaai, en sy het gese ek moet gaan kyk. Daar kom n helikopter en kom land voor die huis in die land!! Ek het nie mooi geweet wat aangaan nie.. maar die nuuskierighied van n kind het my by die deur uitgehelp. Ek het nader geloop aan die omheining wat om die huis was, en daar sien ek hom.. MY PA!!!
Hy het huistoe gekom vir my verjaarsdag!! Die grootste en beste verjaarsdag geskenk, dit het my 9de verjaarsdag vir ewig in my geheue vasgebrand,
Ek onthou n ander keer wat hy die hele naweek wat ek van die koshuis af huis toe was nie by die huis was nie. Sondag oggend vertel my ma my dat iemand my sal kom optel en koshuis toe vat.. n Huisvriend van ons.. ek het hom geken. Alles was OK tot ons moes ry... toe weier ek botweg om te gaan. Ek het myself gaan inwurm in n klein spasie tussen n yskas en kombuis kas en daar het ek gebly, gehuil en gesmeek dat ek my pa wil sien. Dit het my ma gekos om hom te radio en te se ek weier om saam met die oom te gaan. Ek het daar bly sit totdat die oom later gery het. My ma was glad nie gelukkig met my nie, maar het vir my gese my pa is oppad. Ek het gaan slaap en is vroeg, nog donker die volgende oggend wakker gemaak deur my pa wat gese het ek moet opstaan en regmaak dat hy my kan skool toe vat.
Ons het 80km uit die dorp gebly.. gruis pad al die pad. Ons het gery en hy was stil. Ek ook maar, want ek het geweet hy moes bitter ver ry.. en net omdat ek halstarrig was en nie saam met die oom wou ry nie. Dalk was hy kwaad vir my.. en ek het gesit en wonder hoe ek nou die geslskap aan die gang kon kry.. toe se hy iets soos: Jy is darem vol stront.. weet jy hoe ver moes ek ry?
(Nie net moes hy nou in en uit dorp toe, maar hy moes ook weer terug ry na van waar hy gekom het die vorige nag, waar dit was weet ek nie, maar dit was ver, anders sou hy nie reelings gemaak het dat iemand anders my vat nie, hy sou dit self kom doen het)
Ek het hom geantwoord dat ek hom net wou sien, seker maak hy lewe nog. Hy het niks gese nie,,, want ek dink hy het dit geweet, daarom het hy terug gekom, om my te wys hy lewe nog.
Daar was weer infiltrasies, wat meen my Pa en Hendrik was uit op spore. Ja dis wat ons dit genoem het, of hulle het gaan terries jaag.
Iemand, kan my pa wees, het my ma laat weet dit lyk of die terrs in die rigtig van ons huis beweeg. Die generator is afgesit, die werkers is gese om nie vure te maak nie en ons het die gordyne toe getrek in die huis.My ma het voor die radio gebly en die groot en baie swaar ystertafel wat Hendrik daar in die kombuis vir my ma aanmekaar gesweis het is na die hoek van die kombuis langs die venster gedra. Daaronder is daar bed vir my en Louis gemaak. Ek was amper 9 en hy was dan so 3 of so.
Die army ouens en Olivia het om die tafel by kerslig gesit en kaart gespeel na ete. Ons moes stil wees. My ma het soos altyd half gebukkend voor die radio gesit en baie aandagtig geluister, nou en dan gepraat en dan weer geluister. Dit was asof sy ons nie gehoor het nie, net die radio's. Sou ons bietjie harder begin praat is gou vertel ons the sjuuuut!!
Ek was bang.. want my ma het reg voor die venster gesit, en ons was uit die vuur uit, maar sy was reg in die lyn van vuur. More was my 9de verjaarsdag, ek het gewonder of my pa daar sou wees.. ek het gewonder of ek sou 9 word.
Ek kan nie onthou of ek daar aan die slaap geraak het en of ek in my bed gaan slaap het nie. Dit was n lang aand, dis al wat ek kan onthou.
Die volgende oggend het ons soos gewoonlik wakker geword, en dit was n normale dag. Toe se my ma sy het n groot geskenk vir my... ek wou dadelik die geskenk he... maar sy het gese ek moet wag, dit kom later.
Daar was n helse lawaai, en sy het gese ek moet gaan kyk. Daar kom n helikopter en kom land voor die huis in die land!! Ek het nie mooi geweet wat aangaan nie.. maar die nuuskierighied van n kind het my by die deur uitgehelp. Ek het nader geloop aan die omheining wat om die huis was, en daar sien ek hom.. MY PA!!!
Hy het huistoe gekom vir my verjaarsdag!! Die grootste en beste verjaarsdag geskenk, dit het my 9de verjaarsdag vir ewig in my geheue vasgebrand,
Ek onthou n ander keer wat hy die hele naweek wat ek van die koshuis af huis toe was nie by die huis was nie. Sondag oggend vertel my ma my dat iemand my sal kom optel en koshuis toe vat.. n Huisvriend van ons.. ek het hom geken. Alles was OK tot ons moes ry... toe weier ek botweg om te gaan. Ek het myself gaan inwurm in n klein spasie tussen n yskas en kombuis kas en daar het ek gebly, gehuil en gesmeek dat ek my pa wil sien. Dit het my ma gekos om hom te radio en te se ek weier om saam met die oom te gaan. Ek het daar bly sit totdat die oom later gery het. My ma was glad nie gelukkig met my nie, maar het vir my gese my pa is oppad. Ek het gaan slaap en is vroeg, nog donker die volgende oggend wakker gemaak deur my pa wat gese het ek moet opstaan en regmaak dat hy my kan skool toe vat.
Ons het 80km uit die dorp gebly.. gruis pad al die pad. Ons het gery en hy was stil. Ek ook maar, want ek het geweet hy moes bitter ver ry.. en net omdat ek halstarrig was en nie saam met die oom wou ry nie. Dalk was hy kwaad vir my.. en ek het gesit en wonder hoe ek nou die geslskap aan die gang kon kry.. toe se hy iets soos: Jy is darem vol stront.. weet jy hoe ver moes ek ry?
(Nie net moes hy nou in en uit dorp toe, maar hy moes ook weer terug ry na van waar hy gekom het die vorige nag, waar dit was weet ek nie, maar dit was ver, anders sou hy nie reelings gemaak het dat iemand anders my vat nie, hy sou dit self kom doen het)
Ek het hom geantwoord dat ek hom net wou sien, seker maak hy lewe nog. Hy het niks gese nie,,, want ek dink hy het dit geweet, daarom het hy terug gekom, om my te wys hy lewe nog.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
My dad celebrated his birthday on 27 December... this is for him
30 Somers
30 winters
30 Kersfese
30 verjaarsdae
30 jaar..
Dis hoe lank ek jou mis Pappa
En sou ek nog 30 jaar lewe
Sal ek nooit ophou
Jy is op n beter plek
Verenig met Ons Ma
daar waar niks kan pla.
Hoop ons loop ook deur daai hek
Om eendag verenig met julle te wees
nie in liggaam, maar in gees.
Tot daardie dag kom
Bly klou julle aan my hart soos gom.
Beter ouers kon ek nie vra
Al voel dit soms julle was net hier vir n paar dae..
Op hartseer dae soos die
Weet ek julle vergeet ons ook nie.
30 winters
30 Kersfese
30 verjaarsdae
30 jaar..
Dis hoe lank ek jou mis Pappa
En sou ek nog 30 jaar lewe
Sal ek nooit ophou
Jy is op n beter plek
Verenig met Ons Ma
daar waar niks kan pla.
Hoop ons loop ook deur daai hek
Om eendag verenig met julle te wees
nie in liggaam, maar in gees.
Tot daardie dag kom
Bly klou julle aan my hart soos gom.
Beter ouers kon ek nie vra
Al voel dit soms julle was net hier vir n paar dae..
Op hartseer dae soos die
Weet ek julle vergeet ons ook nie.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Written by Evan Davies.
Halfway into April 1982 an incursion of 300 SWAPO fighters threaded their way through the dense vegetation of eastern Ovamboland and were predicted to be heading for the area around Tsumeb. They had passed 61 Mech to the east and were somewhere in the vast trackless wilds the north of the first row of private cattle farms.
Tsumeb was to be the HQ for operations, and many units were to be gathered there. We were informed briefly of the state of affairs, the number of terrorists, that they were well armed and still travelling in a single large group.
Alpha Company drove south to Tsumeb in the late afternoon. Ratpacks had been issued, the ratels loaded to capacity with ammunition, tons per vehicle, and we drove south through swarms of white ants in the low gold sunset. The company stretched for about 5Km along the road.
Now came a time of surprises; we found things out as they happened. At Tsumeb, a pleasant treed town with many jacarandas, we parked outside 61 Mech’s Tsumeb admin office. This was where our post was sent to. It was our known address. We were told of a variety concert to be given that evening by entertainers who travelled around the fighting units. It may have been a front for the mobilisation. Anyway, it was pretty terrible.
The hall was filled with officers and their wives. Kommandant De Vries Se Vrou was there in the front row, as well as Captain Malan’s wife. Sitting in their groups were also some clerks and some fighting units. All were as bored as each other. The show seemed to go on for hours. Finally there was an interval, during which we rudely scrambled for cooldrink and chips. After we were darkened the stage lights came on and three costumed lady dancers came on, as well as Captain Malan. They looked at him in surprise, and he announced that a group of SWAPOs had just been seen and their position confirmed. Alpha Company was to form up outside at their vehicles, and if anyone knew of someone missing they were to find them. “Word gereed vir orders in tien minute. Loop nou asseblief ordelik uit”.
Captain Malan was always impeccably polite… but we were terrified of him angry.
We filed past the enquiring faces of women and other troops and out into the darkness. The orders were simple. We were to drive to the Charlie Cutline at Tsintsabis. There we were to deploy along its south side, concealed over 6Km of its length until morning, in the path of the oncoming insurgents. If contact occurred at any point in the line, reinforcements would quickly arrive from either side and a battle would follow. It was hoped to contain them north of the cutline, and the bush there would be saturated with SADF units.
We organised ourselves at Tsintsabis, a small bermed fort, and from there drove slowly along the cutline, ratels at the back stopping one at a time every couple of hundred metres. The troops then disembarked and spread thinly between the vehicles and hid. We listened like bat eared foxes all night. The gunners and drivers stayed in their seats, the gunners scanning the opposing bush through their magnified optical sights.
We lay under bushes in the growing day and heat, waiting.
Finally an order came to group into platoons and move down the cutline to receive trackers, deploy separately, and search. But at about 10 a.m. an urgent message from Platoon 3 said they had landmine casualties and needed assistance. As Platoon 2 had found and was following tracks, we went. We drove west from our position in the centre of the three platoons until we came upon the distraught group. On seeing tracks on the cutline several troops had dismounted to loosen the game fence wires and cables for a follow up to the north. The detonation of a black widow had removed a troop’s leg entirely. 5 others had been less seriously wounded. We helped with bush clearing for a casevac, but when the puma came it accepted only 3 patients. Something serious had happened to Platoon 2 several kilometres away.
The Captain and Platoon 2 had joined up with a contingent of territorial force members and trackers, and the group of 5 ratels loaded with extra passengers had come upon a clear trail of debris on the cutline – empty cans, AK-47 rounds, sweet papers, as well as many footprints. This they followed for several hundred metres until it turned off north into the thick bush. The trackers led and it became obvious to those following that something was afoot, something not right. The insurgents made every attempt contrary to concealment.
I believe the intended plan was to put stopper groups in place to the north and flush the insurgents. “1-2-Alpha”, the Platoon Sergeant’s vehicle, was sent ahead with trackers to confirm the direction of the trail so that stoppers could be accurately placed. A radio message said that the tracks led across a wide shona. Such a feature was completely unexpected in this thick bush. It was unique there. The section was directed to follow across, enter the bush on the far side for not more than 100m to make sure there were no changes in the trail’s direction or composition, and return.
Across the shona they drove with extra people making 17 on board, into the dense growth, and then into a small open space. The tracker started running back to the ratel. An RPG-7 hit the ratel’s sight block. The driver, Lenny Hough, caught the blast on the back of his head. Before he lost consciousness, with marvellous grace he operated the pneumatic door opening levers to let the others escape the bruising noise – first left, then right. An older farmer who was standing in the command hatch and his son, Territorial Force members, and a bushman tracker, died immediately. The gunner, Cruywagen, was seriously wounded in head, neck and elsewhere. (On 13.11.82 I visited him in 1 Military Hospital in Pretoria. He couldn’t move or speak, but his hospital friends got him to open his eyes. Once as blue as the sky, they were now the colour of slate).
In the following seconds, 6 other RPGs exploded into both sides of the ratel. Petersen, killed outright, had red blotches all over his face and body from the searing copper droplets and screaming steel chips. Wolfvaard’s remains were collected later. It is easier to pick up bits of blackened, shattered bone than the fresh flesh sprayed over the inside of the ratel. An RPG-7 detonated on his chest as he emerged from the door. Corporal Van Jaersveld, who had trained us at 1 SAI, lost his legs, his arms, his lower torso, and his head.
A local woman, Tannie Pompie, who operated a radio relay in the area, reported the news and thus learned that she had lost a son and husband.
After the RPGs were done automatic fire intensified. With a shoulder wound, crawling through the long grass with bullets for a ceiling, Lance Corporal Scheepers found a remaining tracker, grabbed him, shook him out of his terror, saying, “Kry net die ratels, die ratels!” and forced him to backtrack. The others leopard crawled through the long pale grass of the clearing and in a loose group, found visual cover.
Pietie Pienaar had been sitting on the spare wheel when an RPG went into the edge of the engine covers. These blew open, hurling him unhurt to the ground, where instants later an exploding rifle grenade took a chunk from his backside. Piet Swarts, sleeping on the ratel floor and protected from serious hurt by the central seating console, escaped over the remains of Wolfvaard, but took two AK-47 bullets in the left arm once outside.
De Villiers escaped miraculously. An RPG was aimed at his middle. It went through the only solid towbar in the entire battalion (the rest being made from pipe sections; this towbar was well known for it was given as punishment during opfoks), though the ratel’s side and into the diesel tank whose far wall it failed to penetrate into the service passage where he sat. But his eardrums burst and he was deaf afterwards. Mostert was bleeding through many holes. Corporal Viljoen was also wounded by shrapnel.
The section leader Corporal Du Toit went back to the ratel under fire and collected a shirt-front of full magazines and brought them to Corporal Viljoen who fired 14 of them empty on automatic on the section’s only surviving rifle until it jammed. Its hand-protector had been blown off in the RPG attack.
Nearly 2Km away, the crews of the other four ratels clearly heard what sounded like a firefight between platoons. Deprived of radio comms with 1-2-Alpha, the Captain ordered an advance along the tyre tracks leading to the noise. Scheepers and a bushman presently appeared running towards them and blurted the worst news.
Drawing up in a line the vehicles crashed through the dense bush and emerged on the wide, circular shona known as Olifantspan after the thousands of elephant footprints imprinted there in the dried mud. Crossing this at speed and reaching the bush on the far side the troops disembarked and firing high, the line advanced. The ambushing group vanished into the greenery but with the increase in noise the survivors cowered in an extremity of fear. The first thing Mostert saw was a tracker with an AK-47, an image of impending death.
Platoon Medic Piet Spreeuwenberg saved Cruywagen’s life while the Company Medics and all their frantic helpers struggled in vain wit the unrecognizable Lenny Hough. I am told they gave up when his brain fell out. The first puma to arrive contained badly wounded friends. No one amongst the troops knew clearly what was going on.
The trackers counted 42 shallow trenches arranged in L-formation and confirmed the presence of 42 ambushers from tracks and spent ammunition including that from 4 machine guns. The group split up immediately into individuals or groups of 2 or 3. Later in the day one fleeing ambusher was shot by a gunship above RPG height. Another of the trackers had run through the ambush and turned up that evening with an SADF unit far to the north.
The event ended in fire when the shot vehicle erupted in flames and explosions and glowed like a furnace for two days.
Tsumeb was to be the HQ for operations, and many units were to be gathered there. We were informed briefly of the state of affairs, the number of terrorists, that they were well armed and still travelling in a single large group.
Alpha Company drove south to Tsumeb in the late afternoon. Ratpacks had been issued, the ratels loaded to capacity with ammunition, tons per vehicle, and we drove south through swarms of white ants in the low gold sunset. The company stretched for about 5Km along the road.
Now came a time of surprises; we found things out as they happened. At Tsumeb, a pleasant treed town with many jacarandas, we parked outside 61 Mech’s Tsumeb admin office. This was where our post was sent to. It was our known address. We were told of a variety concert to be given that evening by entertainers who travelled around the fighting units. It may have been a front for the mobilisation. Anyway, it was pretty terrible.
The hall was filled with officers and their wives. Kommandant De Vries Se Vrou was there in the front row, as well as Captain Malan’s wife. Sitting in their groups were also some clerks and some fighting units. All were as bored as each other. The show seemed to go on for hours. Finally there was an interval, during which we rudely scrambled for cooldrink and chips. After we were darkened the stage lights came on and three costumed lady dancers came on, as well as Captain Malan. They looked at him in surprise, and he announced that a group of SWAPOs had just been seen and their position confirmed. Alpha Company was to form up outside at their vehicles, and if anyone knew of someone missing they were to find them. “Word gereed vir orders in tien minute. Loop nou asseblief ordelik uit”.
Captain Malan was always impeccably polite… but we were terrified of him angry.
We filed past the enquiring faces of women and other troops and out into the darkness. The orders were simple. We were to drive to the Charlie Cutline at Tsintsabis. There we were to deploy along its south side, concealed over 6Km of its length until morning, in the path of the oncoming insurgents. If contact occurred at any point in the line, reinforcements would quickly arrive from either side and a battle would follow. It was hoped to contain them north of the cutline, and the bush there would be saturated with SADF units.
We organised ourselves at Tsintsabis, a small bermed fort, and from there drove slowly along the cutline, ratels at the back stopping one at a time every couple of hundred metres. The troops then disembarked and spread thinly between the vehicles and hid. We listened like bat eared foxes all night. The gunners and drivers stayed in their seats, the gunners scanning the opposing bush through their magnified optical sights.
We lay under bushes in the growing day and heat, waiting.
Finally an order came to group into platoons and move down the cutline to receive trackers, deploy separately, and search. But at about 10 a.m. an urgent message from Platoon 3 said they had landmine casualties and needed assistance. As Platoon 2 had found and was following tracks, we went. We drove west from our position in the centre of the three platoons until we came upon the distraught group. On seeing tracks on the cutline several troops had dismounted to loosen the game fence wires and cables for a follow up to the north. The detonation of a black widow had removed a troop’s leg entirely. 5 others had been less seriously wounded. We helped with bush clearing for a casevac, but when the puma came it accepted only 3 patients. Something serious had happened to Platoon 2 several kilometres away.
The Captain and Platoon 2 had joined up with a contingent of territorial force members and trackers, and the group of 5 ratels loaded with extra passengers had come upon a clear trail of debris on the cutline – empty cans, AK-47 rounds, sweet papers, as well as many footprints. This they followed for several hundred metres until it turned off north into the thick bush. The trackers led and it became obvious to those following that something was afoot, something not right. The insurgents made every attempt contrary to concealment.
I believe the intended plan was to put stopper groups in place to the north and flush the insurgents. “1-2-Alpha”, the Platoon Sergeant’s vehicle, was sent ahead with trackers to confirm the direction of the trail so that stoppers could be accurately placed. A radio message said that the tracks led across a wide shona. Such a feature was completely unexpected in this thick bush. It was unique there. The section was directed to follow across, enter the bush on the far side for not more than 100m to make sure there were no changes in the trail’s direction or composition, and return.
Across the shona they drove with extra people making 17 on board, into the dense growth, and then into a small open space. The tracker started running back to the ratel. An RPG-7 hit the ratel’s sight block. The driver, Lenny Hough, caught the blast on the back of his head. Before he lost consciousness, with marvellous grace he operated the pneumatic door opening levers to let the others escape the bruising noise – first left, then right. An older farmer who was standing in the command hatch and his son, Territorial Force members, and a bushman tracker, died immediately. The gunner, Cruywagen, was seriously wounded in head, neck and elsewhere. (On 13.11.82 I visited him in 1 Military Hospital in Pretoria. He couldn’t move or speak, but his hospital friends got him to open his eyes. Once as blue as the sky, they were now the colour of slate).
In the following seconds, 6 other RPGs exploded into both sides of the ratel. Petersen, killed outright, had red blotches all over his face and body from the searing copper droplets and screaming steel chips. Wolfvaard’s remains were collected later. It is easier to pick up bits of blackened, shattered bone than the fresh flesh sprayed over the inside of the ratel. An RPG-7 detonated on his chest as he emerged from the door. Corporal Van Jaersveld, who had trained us at 1 SAI, lost his legs, his arms, his lower torso, and his head.
A local woman, Tannie Pompie, who operated a radio relay in the area, reported the news and thus learned that she had lost a son and husband.
After the RPGs were done automatic fire intensified. With a shoulder wound, crawling through the long grass with bullets for a ceiling, Lance Corporal Scheepers found a remaining tracker, grabbed him, shook him out of his terror, saying, “Kry net die ratels, die ratels!” and forced him to backtrack. The others leopard crawled through the long pale grass of the clearing and in a loose group, found visual cover.
Pietie Pienaar had been sitting on the spare wheel when an RPG went into the edge of the engine covers. These blew open, hurling him unhurt to the ground, where instants later an exploding rifle grenade took a chunk from his backside. Piet Swarts, sleeping on the ratel floor and protected from serious hurt by the central seating console, escaped over the remains of Wolfvaard, but took two AK-47 bullets in the left arm once outside.
De Villiers escaped miraculously. An RPG was aimed at his middle. It went through the only solid towbar in the entire battalion (the rest being made from pipe sections; this towbar was well known for it was given as punishment during opfoks), though the ratel’s side and into the diesel tank whose far wall it failed to penetrate into the service passage where he sat. But his eardrums burst and he was deaf afterwards. Mostert was bleeding through many holes. Corporal Viljoen was also wounded by shrapnel.
The section leader Corporal Du Toit went back to the ratel under fire and collected a shirt-front of full magazines and brought them to Corporal Viljoen who fired 14 of them empty on automatic on the section’s only surviving rifle until it jammed. Its hand-protector had been blown off in the RPG attack.
Nearly 2Km away, the crews of the other four ratels clearly heard what sounded like a firefight between platoons. Deprived of radio comms with 1-2-Alpha, the Captain ordered an advance along the tyre tracks leading to the noise. Scheepers and a bushman presently appeared running towards them and blurted the worst news.
Drawing up in a line the vehicles crashed through the dense bush and emerged on the wide, circular shona known as Olifantspan after the thousands of elephant footprints imprinted there in the dried mud. Crossing this at speed and reaching the bush on the far side the troops disembarked and firing high, the line advanced. The ambushing group vanished into the greenery but with the increase in noise the survivors cowered in an extremity of fear. The first thing Mostert saw was a tracker with an AK-47, an image of impending death.
Platoon Medic Piet Spreeuwenberg saved Cruywagen’s life while the Company Medics and all their frantic helpers struggled in vain wit the unrecognizable Lenny Hough. I am told they gave up when his brain fell out. The first puma to arrive contained badly wounded friends. No one amongst the troops knew clearly what was going on.
The trackers counted 42 shallow trenches arranged in L-formation and confirmed the presence of 42 ambushers from tracks and spent ammunition including that from 4 machine guns. The group split up immediately into individuals or groups of 2 or 3. Later in the day one fleeing ambusher was shot by a gunship above RPG height. Another of the trackers had run through the ambush and turned up that evening with an SADF unit far to the north.
The event ended in fire when the shot vehicle erupted in flames and explosions and glowed like a furnace for two days.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Letter to honor my Mother
Hello Riana,
Ek het terloops op jou blog afgekom waar mense praat van Tsinsabis en Tsumeb en dit het so n vloed herinneringe op my neergedaal dat ek vir n lang tyd net hier gesit het en gedink, waar is almal nou, waar is daardie klomp stout seuns. Ons was ook by Tsinsabis vir n lang ruk, as ek reg onthou omtrent 7 maande. Ons het vir Tannie Pompie se stem en roepsyn leer ken en sy was vir ons n 'local Ma', wat baie dinge betref. Ek het een aand op n skerpioen getrap en die ding het my tussen die tone gesteek, ek het amper gevrek van die pyn. Toe ons engelse synertjie vir Tannie Pompie op die lyn kry vir raad se sy vir ons van die ui wat gesny moet word en tussen die tone ingedruk word. Dit was amper soos n wonderwerk, hoe die pyn skielik verminder het en ek was weer die volgende oggend uit op die kaplyn. In Januarie/Februarie 1981 was dit my en Wessels se beurt om plaas op te pas by julle einste plek. Ek het begin grieperag word n dag voor die tyd en het die kaptein naderhand iemand in my plek gestuur saam met Wessie. Intussen het ek toe begin sporadies bewussyn verloor na twee dae en weer het Tannie Pompie vorendag gekom met raad (Wessie was ons Medic, nou juis by julle op die plaas terwyl ek le en vrek op Tsintsabis) - ek het swartwater koors en moet onmiddelik hospitaal toe in SA, die prognose is reg gewees en teen die tyd dat ek in 1 Mil beland het 4 dae later was dit al amper te laat. Ek het weggeraak vir 4 weke en toe ek wakker word hoor ek dat nog n dag in Tsinsabis My laaste sou gewees het. Ek het nooit weer vir Tsintsabis gesien nie en die rumours het dik gele dat ek omgekom het in die vliegtuig. Weer moes ek dankie se vir mense soos jou Ma hulle, hulle het sowaar my lewe gered.
Sedertdien is ek weer terug SWA toe elke jaar met RNT en 61Bn van Etale tot in die Kaokoveld, vir die volgende 6 jaar. Ons het intussen familie gebou, ek het geswat en meestersgraad bereik, ons het 5 kinders wat na Tsintsabis se dae gebore is en wat nou klaar groot is en wat bou aan n nuwe land.
Met Groot Dankie aan Tannie Pompie,
Rhodesier John, Oman
Ek het terloops op jou blog afgekom waar mense praat van Tsinsabis en Tsumeb en dit het so n vloed herinneringe op my neergedaal dat ek vir n lang tyd net hier gesit het en gedink, waar is almal nou, waar is daardie klomp stout seuns. Ons was ook by Tsinsabis vir n lang ruk, as ek reg onthou omtrent 7 maande. Ons het vir Tannie Pompie se stem en roepsyn leer ken en sy was vir ons n 'local Ma', wat baie dinge betref. Ek het een aand op n skerpioen getrap en die ding het my tussen die tone gesteek, ek het amper gevrek van die pyn. Toe ons engelse synertjie vir Tannie Pompie op die lyn kry vir raad se sy vir ons van die ui wat gesny moet word en tussen die tone ingedruk word. Dit was amper soos n wonderwerk, hoe die pyn skielik verminder het en ek was weer die volgende oggend uit op die kaplyn. In Januarie/Februarie 1981 was dit my en Wessels se beurt om plaas op te pas by julle einste plek. Ek het begin grieperag word n dag voor die tyd en het die kaptein naderhand iemand in my plek gestuur saam met Wessie. Intussen het ek toe begin sporadies bewussyn verloor na twee dae en weer het Tannie Pompie vorendag gekom met raad (Wessie was ons Medic, nou juis by julle op die plaas terwyl ek le en vrek op Tsintsabis) - ek het swartwater koors en moet onmiddelik hospitaal toe in SA, die prognose is reg gewees en teen die tyd dat ek in 1 Mil beland het 4 dae later was dit al amper te laat. Ek het weggeraak vir 4 weke en toe ek wakker word hoor ek dat nog n dag in Tsinsabis My laaste sou gewees het. Ek het nooit weer vir Tsintsabis gesien nie en die rumours het dik gele dat ek omgekom het in die vliegtuig. Weer moes ek dankie se vir mense soos jou Ma hulle, hulle het sowaar my lewe gered.
Sedertdien is ek weer terug SWA toe elke jaar met RNT en 61Bn van Etale tot in die Kaokoveld, vir die volgende 6 jaar. Ons het intussen familie gebou, ek het geswat en meestersgraad bereik, ons het 5 kinders wat na Tsintsabis se dae gebore is en wat nou klaar groot is en wat bou aan n nuwe land.
Met Groot Dankie aan Tannie Pompie,
Rhodesier John, Oman
Monday, October 22, 2012
Hi Ross
Thank you for your mail, I have posted it on the blog and on some of the SADF groups on facebook that I belong too.
Thank you so much for writing to me. That is the nice thing about the blog, when you least expect it, you get a mail from some one.. that to me is very special. All the feedback I get from my blog is honestly very precious and dear to me. When I started the blog 7 years ago... it wasn't "cool" yet to talk about the army and what happened there. Since then quite a few books have been published and the media have also started to talk about it. Now people are talking about it openly. What really got me back then, was the stories of despair I got to hear. Men who was in such a state that they were not fit to work.. who could not live normal lives, all thanks to Border Duty. That made me realize that I could actually do some good with my blog.. but I ran myself into a brick wall over and over again with this topic.
I am glad to say things have changed... guys are talking bout their experiences.. and they are catching up with other guys that were with them on the border. At least they are not bottling it all up no more.. they are venting.. talking... letting it all out. its not anymore something to be ashamed about, once again they can be proud of once being a member of the SADF 30 years ago.
Due to my experiences as a child I was diagnosed at a PTSD sufferer. Like you, I started to write, as it was impossible to remember and relay in 30 minutes what i felt and experienced in a week. I started to write, and then read back to my psychologist in that 30 mins i had once a week. I of course kept my writings, and sometimes read it over again after a month or so I was astound at what i felt at that very moment when writing it. I realized later that the writing did me more good than the shrink. So that have been my advice to everyone who had problems.. WRITE. And that is how the blog started... but this was much better.. I GOT FEEDBACK. YAY!!
The blog has given me a much better idea of exactly what happened that day my dad and Hendrik died. I was only a child of nearly 12 when they died, and I was told nothing. or only the bare essentials. It helped me to come to terms with what happened that day. But most of all, it made me very proud and extremely humble.
Warm Greetings
Riana v d Westhuizen
This was a letter to me I found under the comment segment of this blog today. I thank the writer for making my day.
Dear Riana,
I was the Signals NCO for Group 30, later Sector 30 in Otjiwarongo in 1978 and 1979.
On the Ccommando radio network the Tsumeb Commando call-sign was 91, Outjo 81, Grootfontein 61 and so forth.
Early in 78, returning from patrol near Etosha, one team's unimog crashed. The radio batteries were completely empty, so the signaller made a fire to warm up the batteries enough to get one whisper of a signal out to call for help. He sent out an sos which we picked up at our HQ, but the signal rapidly decreased in strength as the batteries burst of power faded, and the coordinates in slidex only your Mother could hear.
And relayed to us, this was enough to find and recover the patrol.
This alerted us to the unique atmospheric situation at your family farm, (We could sometimes even hear New York City taxi cabs! when we came over) So we cut several antennae for the different frequencies, and after testing various cuts and yagi's found that nothing beat the inverted "V" that mother used.
We kept 91 as your Mother's call-sign for all networks, a large security risk, but really, your mother need no callsign, her voice and character were identification enough!
Your family deserves a monument in stone, but let me assure you, you have a monument of memories based on all the warm recollections of your family and the gratefullness for all the lives and misery your family has spared.
For this we thank you.
Steffen Gentis
October 2, 2012 11:11 AM
Hi Riana,
I came across your blog today quite by accident. My name is Ross Hesom and I was a National Serviceman at 101 Workshop Unit in Grootfontein from July 1984 to December 1985. Although based at Grootfontein, I travelled extensively between Ruacana and Katima Mulilo to all the artillery bases and smaller mechanized camps to service the field guns and also Ratel and Eland 90mm guns and turrets. I also did some camps on the border during the SADF withdrawal. We were based at the gates of 61 Mech and I was tasked with looking after the Olifant tank guns and turrets since I was a "Gun Tiffie".
I read your blog on PTSD and I also have a story to tell. In May 2006 I had a complete breakdown and ended up in therapy being treated for Combat Related Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. What a shock after all that time back in divvy street to be given a diagnosis like that! Although I never saw actual combat, I was exposed to the trauma enough to carry the scars for 20 years before actually being able to deal with them. As a release for the stories and memories causing daily flashbacks over those 20 years, I started writing everything down exactly as I remembered them. I showed the transcripts to my therapist who asked if I had told any of this to my wife or family. The official secrets act forced us to bottle everything up and having shown the transcripts to my wife and parents, they were shocked at what I had written. My parents who waited and worried while I was on the border for 18 months as a NSM and then during the camps had no idea what we were doing. As a result of the reaction from my family and the lack of knowledge of what we went through, I cleaned up the transcripts and have had them published under the name "From Boys to Men" - by Ross Hesom - A Victim of Conscription.
Writing the book was very easy as I remembered every incident in crisp, clear detail as if it had happened an hour ago. I now have to go back to the book to recall a lot of the stories. Writing is wonderful therapy and I recommend that every veteran sit down and write his stories. I know that this is not realistic to expect. The other reason for writing and publishing the book was to hopefully reach as many of the SADF veterans who 'Knew that they were different" when they returned home and "didn't know why". I put those two comments in inverted commas because there is a whole generation of South African men out there who are feeling the way I did for 20 years. It is not a lost or forgotten cause and recovery is possible with the right help.
The book, "From Boys to Men" is available for download through Google Books as an e-book for Canadian $7,99 at http://books.google.ca/books/about/From_Boys_to_Men.html?id=PlVlu1qURhAC If you would prefer, send me your address and I will mail you a paperback copy for free.
Thank you for taking the time to create the blog. It is something that is sorely needed.
Regards
Ross Hesom
Monday, August 13, 2012
Sunday, April 15, 2012
15 April 2012, 30 years later.
Vandag is dit presies 30 jaar later. Op 15 April 1982 het my held gesterf. Die feit dat hy vir baie ander mense n held was het nooit by my opgekom toe nie. Al wat ek geweet het, was dat my kaartehuise inmekaar getuimel het. Dit wat ek altyd meer as enigeiets op aarde gevrees het, het nou gebeur. My Pa is dood.
Ek wou dit eenvoudig nie glo nie. Toe ek agter kom hier kom nou slegte nuus het ek hulle dadelik voorgespring met die vraag of Hendrik ( my swaer) iets oorgekom het. Dit sou ek nog kon hanteer... maar toe ek hoor ons het altwee verloor was ek in stukke op die grond.
Vra enige iemand wat so n beproewing deurgegaan het, en hulle sal jou se jy sou sekondes voor dit nog nie eers kon droom in jou wildste drome dat jy sal kan staan met sulke skokkende nuus nie.. tog... HY gee krag. Op daai oomblik... en in die dae .. jare wat kom.
Nooit sou ek kon droom in watse from ek oral krag vandaan sou kry nie... en vandag is dit 30 jaar later .. en ek kry dit steeds... van mense soos JULLE!!
Baie dankie vir die mense wat oor die jare vir my die lig op my donkerste uur gewerp het.. wat my opgelig het, gedra het, met hulle pragtige woorde oor my ouers, PA!!
Most of all, for keeping the memory alive. Not for me, but his grand children, their children and children to come. When i started my blog 6 years ago I would never have imagined for the wonderful responses, stories, and just general outpoor of love and admiration i received from strangers, people I will never meet, but we have a strong unseen bond for ever, for the simple reason that two wonderful human beings have touched our lives.
On this day I think of all the families who lost a loved one on 15 April '82. I honestly hope you found the closure I did. And once again I want to thank every one who made a contribution towards my healing.
They lived to INSPIRE, let us never forget.
Ek wou dit eenvoudig nie glo nie. Toe ek agter kom hier kom nou slegte nuus het ek hulle dadelik voorgespring met die vraag of Hendrik ( my swaer) iets oorgekom het. Dit sou ek nog kon hanteer... maar toe ek hoor ons het altwee verloor was ek in stukke op die grond.
Vra enige iemand wat so n beproewing deurgegaan het, en hulle sal jou se jy sou sekondes voor dit nog nie eers kon droom in jou wildste drome dat jy sal kan staan met sulke skokkende nuus nie.. tog... HY gee krag. Op daai oomblik... en in die dae .. jare wat kom.
Nooit sou ek kon droom in watse from ek oral krag vandaan sou kry nie... en vandag is dit 30 jaar later .. en ek kry dit steeds... van mense soos JULLE!!
Baie dankie vir die mense wat oor die jare vir my die lig op my donkerste uur gewerp het.. wat my opgelig het, gedra het, met hulle pragtige woorde oor my ouers, PA!!
Most of all, for keeping the memory alive. Not for me, but his grand children, their children and children to come. When i started my blog 6 years ago I would never have imagined for the wonderful responses, stories, and just general outpoor of love and admiration i received from strangers, people I will never meet, but we have a strong unseen bond for ever, for the simple reason that two wonderful human beings have touched our lives.
On this day I think of all the families who lost a loved one on 15 April '82. I honestly hope you found the closure I did. And once again I want to thank every one who made a contribution towards my healing.
They lived to INSPIRE, let us never forget.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
THE FINAL INSPECTION
The soldier stood and faced God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass.
"Step forward now, you soldier,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To my Church have you been true?"
The soldier squared his soldiers and said,
"No, Lord, I guess I ain't.
Because those of us who carry guns,
Can't always be a saint.
I've had to work most Sundays,
And at times my talk was tough.
And sometimes I've been violent,
Because the world is awfully rough.
But, I never took a penny,
That wasn't mine to keep...
Though I worked a lot of overtime,
When the bills just got too steep.
And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God, forgive me,
I've wept unmanly tears.
I know I don't deserve a place,
Among the people here.
They never wanted me around,
Except to calm their fears.
If you've a place for me here, Lord,
It needn't be so grand.
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don't, I'll understand."
There was a silence all around the throne,
Where the saints had often trod.
As the soldier waited quietly,
For the judgement of his God.
"Step forward now, you soldier,
You've borne your burdens well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,
You've done your time in Hell."
"They shall not grow old as we who are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them..... "
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass.
"Step forward now, you soldier,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To my Church have you been true?"
The soldier squared his soldiers and said,
"No, Lord, I guess I ain't.
Because those of us who carry guns,
Can't always be a saint.
I've had to work most Sundays,
And at times my talk was tough.
And sometimes I've been violent,
Because the world is awfully rough.
But, I never took a penny,
That wasn't mine to keep...
Though I worked a lot of overtime,
When the bills just got too steep.
And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God, forgive me,
I've wept unmanly tears.
I know I don't deserve a place,
Among the people here.
They never wanted me around,
Except to calm their fears.
If you've a place for me here, Lord,
It needn't be so grand.
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don't, I'll understand."
There was a silence all around the throne,
Where the saints had often trod.
As the soldier waited quietly,
For the judgement of his God.
"Step forward now, you soldier,
You've borne your burdens well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,
You've done your time in Hell."
"They shall not grow old as we who are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them..... "
Monday, January 2, 2012
A Letter that took my breath away...
Dear Riana,
I don't normally comment on Facebook pages, but after reading your
story and the story related about how your father died in a SWAPO
ambush, I feel I should share something with you. Back in early 1979 I
was commanding a company of paratroopers from 1 Para Bn. B-Company had
been doing operations almost continuously since early 1978, and in
March 1979 we were flown up from Bloemfontein to take over the Fire
Force at Ondangwa. My soldiers were weary after more than a year of
repeated deployments and we had been back in Tempe for less than a
week since our previous deployment in the Rundu area. They had just
been presented with their Pro Patria medals when we were sent back to
SWA, but they were as anxious as ever to get to grips with the enemy
again. When we landed, we realised that we were at Grootfontein, not
Ondangwa! We had been diverted. I was immediately sent up to the HQ
and briefed by Brig Bosman and Col Eddie Webb from SWA Command in
Windhoek. There had been a big infiltration by SWAPO and they had
penetrated into the so-called "White Farmlands" south of the old Red
Line. It was the start of Operation CARROT, which was to continue for
several years. There were elements of SWAPO known to be in the
mountains within a triangle formed by Tsumeb, Grootfontein and Otavi.
The Ghaub Mission Station in the mountains was suspected of providing
them with support. My company was tasked with searching for these
elements and flushing them out of the mountains. I had to find a way
to enter the mountains unobserved with my company, and settled for a
plan whereby we were infiltrated in the cattle-trucks of local
farmers, who would drop off sections at various points at night,
without stopping, so that they could climb different peaks and
establish temporary bases from which to operate. The plan was
presented to the big shots and they approved it. All went well and the
next day all nine sections of the company were in place and the Coy HQ
was hidden near the top of one of the highest peaks, where we hoped to
establish good radio communications. It was a very demanding time that
we spent in those mountains, and the stories of what happened before
the terrs were finally driven out of their hiding places and we were
able to continue the hunt in the flat farmlands do not belong here.
Suffice to say we had blisteringly hot days to contend with in the
mountains, freezing nights, howling winds, mopani flies and a severe
shortage of water. But our biggest problem throughout was to maintain
radio communications!
The terrain and the atmospheric conditions played havoc with our
signals, and we struggled to keep in touch with our sections on VHF,
but lost all contact with our higher HQ on HF. Then 91 came on the
air! It was like a ray of light to us! This woman with the most
beautiful voice who seemed to be able to make contact with us at all
times! She was in contact with our higher HQ and she was able to relay
messages for us. We made contact with her at scheduled times and were
able to send our SITREPS and to receive fresh instructions. We could
hear her talking to our higher HQ, but could not hear them, and she
always relayed every message meticulously accurately. But she did far
more than that. During the extended period that we operated in those
dry, bush-covered, densely forested and rocky mountains we needed
resupply, and she arranged that for us, with surreptitious deliveries
at predetermined spots at night by local farmers from the Commando. I
made a note in the Company Diary at the time: "There is a woman
signaller on one of the relay stations who really is good! She grasps
situations rapidly and relays messages accurately - in sharp contrast
to many of the men manning sets!!" The barren rocks that the troops
had to clamber across were razor sharp and cut their boots to ribbons.
We had to request new boots and the Quartermaster at Grootfontein was
reluctant to comply to our request. But he had not bargained on Tannie
Pompie! We heard her sort him out on the radio in no uncertain terms
and we rolled around laughing at the way she put him in his place and
reminded him that we were the ones doing the fighting while he sat in
his comfortable, air-conditioned store! She spoke to our senior
officers about "My seuns daar bo in die berge", told them she would
not allow them to neglect us and she adopted a motherly ownership of
us. My paratroopers adored her and thought she was the greatest! A
real angel from heaven with their interests at heart. If you had asked
any one of them over that period who was the best chick in the world,
there is no doubt that 91 would have carried away the prize. Sadly,
none of those soldiers ever met her, as we went from the mountains
straight into the hunt on the plains and those brave men cleared out
of the Army at the end of their National Service in June of that year.
It was only in 1982 that I was able to meet Tannie Pompie - your
wonderful mother. Unfortunately, it was a sad time, as it was during
Operation YAHOO and your father had just been killed in that terrible
ambush. At the time I was commanding E-Company, 1 Parachute Battalion
and we were attached to 61 Mechanised Battalion Group. My own Company
2IC, Captain Leon van Wyk, was also killed in a contact with SWAPO
during that operation. Your dear mother will not remember me, as she
was understandably very emotional when I spoke to her, but I want you
to know what a wonderful job she did and how deeply she crept into the
hearts of the paratroopers she helped so very long ago.
God bless you.
McGill Alexander
I don't normally comment on Facebook pages, but after reading your
story and the story related about how your father died in a SWAPO
ambush, I feel I should share something with you. Back in early 1979 I
was commanding a company of paratroopers from 1 Para Bn. B-Company had
been doing operations almost continuously since early 1978, and in
March 1979 we were flown up from Bloemfontein to take over the Fire
Force at Ondangwa. My soldiers were weary after more than a year of
repeated deployments and we had been back in Tempe for less than a
week since our previous deployment in the Rundu area. They had just
been presented with their Pro Patria medals when we were sent back to
SWA, but they were as anxious as ever to get to grips with the enemy
again. When we landed, we realised that we were at Grootfontein, not
Ondangwa! We had been diverted. I was immediately sent up to the HQ
and briefed by Brig Bosman and Col Eddie Webb from SWA Command in
Windhoek. There had been a big infiltration by SWAPO and they had
penetrated into the so-called "White Farmlands" south of the old Red
Line. It was the start of Operation CARROT, which was to continue for
several years. There were elements of SWAPO known to be in the
mountains within a triangle formed by Tsumeb, Grootfontein and Otavi.
The Ghaub Mission Station in the mountains was suspected of providing
them with support. My company was tasked with searching for these
elements and flushing them out of the mountains. I had to find a way
to enter the mountains unobserved with my company, and settled for a
plan whereby we were infiltrated in the cattle-trucks of local
farmers, who would drop off sections at various points at night,
without stopping, so that they could climb different peaks and
establish temporary bases from which to operate. The plan was
presented to the big shots and they approved it. All went well and the
next day all nine sections of the company were in place and the Coy HQ
was hidden near the top of one of the highest peaks, where we hoped to
establish good radio communications. It was a very demanding time that
we spent in those mountains, and the stories of what happened before
the terrs were finally driven out of their hiding places and we were
able to continue the hunt in the flat farmlands do not belong here.
Suffice to say we had blisteringly hot days to contend with in the
mountains, freezing nights, howling winds, mopani flies and a severe
shortage of water. But our biggest problem throughout was to maintain
radio communications!
The terrain and the atmospheric conditions played havoc with our
signals, and we struggled to keep in touch with our sections on VHF,
but lost all contact with our higher HQ on HF. Then 91 came on the
air! It was like a ray of light to us! This woman with the most
beautiful voice who seemed to be able to make contact with us at all
times! She was in contact with our higher HQ and she was able to relay
messages for us. We made contact with her at scheduled times and were
able to send our SITREPS and to receive fresh instructions. We could
hear her talking to our higher HQ, but could not hear them, and she
always relayed every message meticulously accurately. But she did far
more than that. During the extended period that we operated in those
dry, bush-covered, densely forested and rocky mountains we needed
resupply, and she arranged that for us, with surreptitious deliveries
at predetermined spots at night by local farmers from the Commando. I
made a note in the Company Diary at the time: "There is a woman
signaller on one of the relay stations who really is good! She grasps
situations rapidly and relays messages accurately - in sharp contrast
to many of the men manning sets!!" The barren rocks that the troops
had to clamber across were razor sharp and cut their boots to ribbons.
We had to request new boots and the Quartermaster at Grootfontein was
reluctant to comply to our request. But he had not bargained on Tannie
Pompie! We heard her sort him out on the radio in no uncertain terms
and we rolled around laughing at the way she put him in his place and
reminded him that we were the ones doing the fighting while he sat in
his comfortable, air-conditioned store! She spoke to our senior
officers about "My seuns daar bo in die berge", told them she would
not allow them to neglect us and she adopted a motherly ownership of
us. My paratroopers adored her and thought she was the greatest! A
real angel from heaven with their interests at heart. If you had asked
any one of them over that period who was the best chick in the world,
there is no doubt that 91 would have carried away the prize. Sadly,
none of those soldiers ever met her, as we went from the mountains
straight into the hunt on the plains and those brave men cleared out
of the Army at the end of their National Service in June of that year.
It was only in 1982 that I was able to meet Tannie Pompie - your
wonderful mother. Unfortunately, it was a sad time, as it was during
Operation YAHOO and your father had just been killed in that terrible
ambush. At the time I was commanding E-Company, 1 Parachute Battalion
and we were attached to 61 Mechanised Battalion Group. My own Company
2IC, Captain Leon van Wyk, was also killed in a contact with SWAPO
during that operation. Your dear mother will not remember me, as she
was understandably very emotional when I spoke to her, but I want you
to know what a wonderful job she did and how deeply she crept into the
hearts of the paratroopers she helped so very long ago.
God bless you.
McGill Alexander
Monday, October 24, 2011
My Little Blog
It's been a long time since I have made a posting here, after I have tried to get help for the veterans of the war and I got so little positive response i was very discouraged with everything.
But I am doing the happy dance since yesterday, and I just have to share with all of you a wonderful story.
About just more than a month ago I received a mail from a man called Deon Lamprecht, he is a reporter for Rapport and he made the 61 mech Veterans tour with them last year. He contacted me to say that he plans to write a book about the PEOPLE of Tsumeb and that he have read my blog and want to see me and my family.
We had contact for a while exchanging mails etc. Thursday night I met him. I introduced him to my family and Saturday and Sunday I spend time talking to him.
He wanted to know about my experiences as a child, how the war effected me, US..our family. We had a lekker chat.
Yesterday he came around to take photo's, and I bribed him not to with a good plate of curry... :-) But we had a good chat and without me asking him how it came to him wanting to write this book, he told me how it all came about, and here follow the story of how my little blog started all of this.
One of the 61 Mech Vets contacted Rapport to ask if they would not be interested in sending a reporter with on the tour they did last year to write about it. Attached to this email was the link of this very blog. I can remember receiving a mail from a lady saying she was with some paper in SA.. I replied, how many mails we exchanged I cant be certain of. This Lady had read my blog, liked it, contacted me and decided the Rapport will foot the bill and send Deon on the tour. When they came to Tsumeb they met up with locals and it was there that Deon decided he want to write a book about the people of Tsumeb and how the war affected them.
A book will be written.. and I am sure, after meeting the man who will write it.. and talking to him, that it will be good book, other than the other books, this one will be about the people.. not the war as such, but the effect the war had on the people... the facts, the stories and heartache.
I am pretty proud of myself and my little blog to have started such a great sequence of events. And.. most of all.... it feels to me as if I might have found a foothold to start with my big plan of getting help to the veterans of the war, the ones who are still living, in pain! I feel like saying "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind "
But I am doing the happy dance since yesterday, and I just have to share with all of you a wonderful story.
About just more than a month ago I received a mail from a man called Deon Lamprecht, he is a reporter for Rapport and he made the 61 mech Veterans tour with them last year. He contacted me to say that he plans to write a book about the PEOPLE of Tsumeb and that he have read my blog and want to see me and my family.
We had contact for a while exchanging mails etc. Thursday night I met him. I introduced him to my family and Saturday and Sunday I spend time talking to him.
He wanted to know about my experiences as a child, how the war effected me, US..our family. We had a lekker chat.
Yesterday he came around to take photo's, and I bribed him not to with a good plate of curry... :-) But we had a good chat and without me asking him how it came to him wanting to write this book, he told me how it all came about, and here follow the story of how my little blog started all of this.
One of the 61 Mech Vets contacted Rapport to ask if they would not be interested in sending a reporter with on the tour they did last year to write about it. Attached to this email was the link of this very blog. I can remember receiving a mail from a lady saying she was with some paper in SA.. I replied, how many mails we exchanged I cant be certain of. This Lady had read my blog, liked it, contacted me and decided the Rapport will foot the bill and send Deon on the tour. When they came to Tsumeb they met up with locals and it was there that Deon decided he want to write a book about the people of Tsumeb and how the war affected them.
A book will be written.. and I am sure, after meeting the man who will write it.. and talking to him, that it will be good book, other than the other books, this one will be about the people.. not the war as such, but the effect the war had on the people... the facts, the stories and heartache.
I am pretty proud of myself and my little blog to have started such a great sequence of events. And.. most of all.... it feels to me as if I might have found a foothold to start with my big plan of getting help to the veterans of the war, the ones who are still living, in pain! I feel like saying "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind "
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Family hardships
Danie van der Westhuizen (jnr)
ek het so pas deur my sussie se blog gelees , en is baie dankbaar vir julle almal se bydraes hier. ek was op daardie staduim toe dit gebeur het in ruacana in die artillerie, so sal graag van mense wil hoor wat direk met my pa en swaer in kontak was
groete Danie
September 23, 2007 3:16 PM
This comment was left on my blog post named "Newspaper clips from 1982", it was written by my brother, D.R v d Westhuizen Jnr.
He passed away on January 2 2010. A massive heart attack took him away from us at the tender age of 47. May he have peace and harmony where he find himself today. We all love you Broer.
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