The Heart of a Lonely Hunter
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From No Outspan
by Deneys Reitz
He spoke good English, and he began to spin an adventure which he said had befallen him.
He told of how he had been chased by a lion, and how he had run for his life, the lion gaining on him until, with a roar, it leapt on him at last. At this point his powers of invention failed, and he stopped dead. His audience had been following him with bated breath, and one of them asked what happened next. He considered it his duty to round off his story satisfactorily, and so answered with all simplicity: ‘Sir, the lion ate me.’
~
I reached the Olifants River some miles above its junction with the Letaba, and after a long search I found a suitable spot for a pontoon, which in due course was built and launced by Paul Selby.
As I walked along the river bank, the carcass of a dead hippo came drifting downstream, and presently it grounded on a sandpit. Outwardly there was no sign of injury, but when the locals skinned it, we found that the flesh underneath was pulped along the backbone and the ribs. The locals said that an elephant had pounded it to death, and they later showed me a mudhole beside the river, all trampled and pitted, where the battle had taken place.
On my return journey I went via a trading station called Acornhoek, lying just outside the Kruger Park. A friend of mine named Whittingstall lived there and when I looked in at his house, I found that he had recently been mauled by a lion.
He was a skilled hunter, but he made the same mistake that so many others have made: he wounded a lion and went after him in thick bush. Ninety per cent of lion casualties are due to following a wounded animal into high grass or scrub.
A lion, like any other game, runs away if wounded; or if very badly hit and unable to go far, he hides under cover. But if brought to bay he will charge, and it is then that the accidents happen.
Whittingstall, in his anxiety to finish off the lion, followed it with two of his trackers. He told me that the next thing he saw was a ball of yellow hurtling through the air towards him. He fired but was thrown to the ground and seized by the shoulder. His trackers saved him. One of them pulled the lion by the tail as it stood over him, and the other drove his assegai into its heart.
Whittingstall, in firing, had smashed the lion’s right foot, which forced it to balance on the remaining three legs, so that it could not claw him. This probably also helped to save his life, for while a lion’s bite is serious enough, his teeth are more or less aseptic; but to be clawed is certain death from blood poisoning, for the sheaths are clotted with decayed flesh.
Whittingstall told me that his sensation was that of a powerful steel vice crushing his shoulderblade and arm, and that the pain was awful.
He was taken to hospital, and he made a good recovery. When next I saw him, he said with a twinkle in his eye, for his newly-wedded wife was sitting beside him, that the most serious after-effect of his accident was that he had married the nursing sister who had looked after him.
Met ’n Vonkel in die Oog
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Uit No Outspan
deur Deneys Reitz
Hy het goeie Engels gepraat en hulle toe begin vertel van ’n avontuur wat hy ervaar het.
Hy het hulle vertel hoe ’n leeu hom gejaag het en hy moes hardloop vir al wat hy werd was om uit sy kloue te bly. Die leeu het hom ingehaal en toe met ’n gebrul hom bespring. Net daar het sy vernuf om die storie verder te fabriseer, tot ’n skielike einde gekom. Die gehoor het met gespanne aandag na hom geluister, en een van hulle het hom toe gevra wat daarna gebeur het. Hy het gevoel dat dit sy plig was om sy verhaal bevredigend af te sluit, en het daarop eenvoudig geantwoord: “Meneer, die leeu het my opgevreet.”
~
Ek het die Olifantsrivier ’n paar myl bokant die samevloeiing met die Letaba bereik, en na ’n lang soektog het ek ’n geskikte plek vir ’n pont gekry wat mettertyd gebou en te water gelaat is deur Paul Selby.
Terwyl ek op die wal van die rivier geloop het, het die karkas van ’n dooie seekoei stroomaf gedryf en aanstons het dit teen ’n sandbank vasgedryf. Op die oog af was daar geen teken van ’n besering nie, maar toe die plaaslikes dit afgeslag het, het ons gesien hoe die vleis onder die vel langs die rugstring en ribbes tot pulp vermorsel was. Die mense het gesê dat ’n olifant hom doodgetrap het en later het hulle my ’n moddergat langs die rivier gewys wat heeltemal vertrap was. Dit was daar waar die geveg plaasgevind het.
Met my terugkeer het ek via ’n handelspos, met die naam Acornhoek, gereis. Dit was net buite die Park geleë. ’n Vriend van my met die naam Whittingstall het hier gewoon, en toe ek vir hom by sy huis gaan kuier het, het ek gevind dat hy onlangs deur ’n leeu aangeval is. Hy was ’n vaardige jagter, maar hy het dieselfde fout as soveel ander begaan. Hy het ’n leeu verwond en hom toe in die digte bos agtervolg. Negentig persent van ongevalle met leeus is as gevolg daarvan dat die gewonde dier in die hoë gras of struikgewas nagesit is.
’n Leeu net soos enige ander dier, hardloop weg wanneer hy gewond is, of, as hy ’n ernstige skoot weg het en dit moeilik ver kan wegkom, sal hy wegkruip waar daar beskutting is, maar as as hy vasgekeer word, sal hy aanval, en dit is daar waar die ongeluk gebeur.
In sy gretigheid om die leeu die genadeslag toe te dien, het Whittingstall met twee van sy spoorsnyers hom agtervolg. Hy het my vertel dat die volgende ding wat hy gesien het ’n geel bal was wat deur die lug op hom aangeslinger gekom het. Hy het ’n skoot afgetrek, maar is toe teen die grond gegooi en aan die skouer vasgebyt. Sy spoorsnyers het hom gered. Een van hulle het die leeu aan die stert beetgekry en getrek, en die ander een het oor die dier gestaan en hom met sy assegaai in die hart gesteek.
Met die aanvanklike eerste skoot het Wittingstall die leeu se regterpoot verbrysel. Dit het die leeu verplig om met die ander drie pote sy balans te behou, en daardeur kon hy Whittingstall nie in die kloue kry nie. Dit het moontlik ook gehelp om Whittingstall se lewe te red, want hoewel ’n leeu se byt ernstig genoeg is, is sy tande min of meer kiemvry, maar om vasgeklou te word, sal verseker lei na bloedvergiftiging en die dood, want die skede is beklodder met verrotte vlees.
Whittingstall het my vertel dat die sensasie was asof ’n kragtige staalskroef sy skouerblad en arm vergruis het, en dat die pyn verskriklik was.
Hulle het hom hospitaal toe gevat en hy het baie mooi herstel. Toe ek hom weer daarna gesien het, het hy met ’n vonkel in die oog gesê, want sy bruid met wie hy onlangs in die eg verbind is, het langs hom gesit, dat die ernstigste nagevolg van sy ongeluk was dat hy met die verpleegster wat hom opgepas het, getrou het.
When You’re A Member of the Family
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From ‘Secret Agent’ in Voorkamer Stories
by Herman Charles Bosman
Well anyway, here was this stranger, Losper, a middle-aged man with a suitcase, sitting in the post office and asking Jurie Steyn if he could put him up in a spare room for a few days, while he had a look around.
‘I’ll pay the same rates as I paid in the boarding-house in Zeerust,’ Meneer Losper said. ‘Not that I think you’d overcharge me, of course, but I’m only allowed a fixed sum by the Department for accommodation and travel expenses.’
‘Look here, Neef Losper,’ Jurie Steyn said, ‘you didn’t tell me your first name, so I can only call you Neef Losper.’
‘My first name is Org,’ the stranger said.
Well then, Neef Org,’ Jurie Steyn went on. ‘From the way you talk I can see that you’re unacquainted with the customs of the Groot Marico. In the first place, I’m a postmaster and a farmer. And I don’t know which is the worst job, what with money orders and the blue-tongue. I’ve got to put axle-grease on my mule cart and sealing wax on the mailbag. And sometimes I get mixed up. Any man in my position would. One day I’ll paste a revenue stamp on my off-mule and brand a half-moon and bar on the Bekkersdal mailbag. Then there’ll be trouble. Trouble with my off-mule, I mean. The post office won’t notice any difference. But my off-mule is funny, that way. He’ll pull the mule-cart, all right. But then everything’s got to be the way he wants it. He won’t have people laughing at him because he’s got a revenue stamp stuck on his behind. I sometimes think my off-mule knows that a shilling revenue stamp is what you put on a piece of paper after you’ve told a justice of the peace a lot of lies ...’
‘Not lies,’ Gysbert van Tonder interjected.
‘A lot of lies,’ Jurie Steyn went on, ‘about another man’s cattle straying into a person’s lucern lands while that person was taking his sick child to Zeerust …’
Gysbert van Tonder, who was Jurie Steyn’s neighbour, half rose out of his riempies chair, then, and made some sneering remarks about Jurie Steyn and his off-mule. He said he’d never had much time for either of them. And he said he’d prefer not to describe the way his lucern lands looked looked after Jurie Steyn’s cattle had finished straying over them. He said he would not like to use that expression, because there was a stranger present.
Meneer Losper seemed interested, then, and he sat forward to listen. It looked as though Gysbert van Tonder would have said the words, too, only At Naudé, who had a wireless to which he listened in regularly, put a stop to the argument. He said that this was a respectable voorkamer, with family portraits on the wall.
‘And there’s Jurie Steyn’s wife in the kitchen, too,’ At Naudé said. ‘You can’t use the same sort of language here as in theVolksraad, where there are only men.’
Actually, Jurie Steyn’s wife had left the kitchen, about then. Ever since that young schoolmaster with the black hair parted in the middle had come to Bekkersdal, Jurie Steyn’s wife had taken a good deal of interest in matters educational. Consequently, when the stranger, Org Losper, had said that he was from the Department, Jurie Steyn’s wife thought right away – judging from his shifty appearance – that he must be a school inspector. And so she sent a message to the young schoolmaster to warn him in time, so that he could put away the saws and hammers that he used for the private fretwork he did in front of the class while the children were writing compositions.
In the meantime, Jurie Steyn was getting to the point.
‘So you can’t expect me to be running a boarding-house as well as everything else, Neef Org,’ he was saying. ‘But all the same, you’re welcome to stay. And you can stay as long as you like. Only, you mustn’t offer to pay again. If you’d known more about these parts, you’d also have known that the Groot Marico has got a very fine reputation for hospitality. When you come and stay with a man, he gets insulted if you offer him money. But I’ll be glad to invite you into my home as a member of my own family.’
Org Losper then said that that was exactly what he didn’t want, anymore. And he was firm about it, too.
‘When you’re a member of the family, you can’t say no to anything,’ he explained. ‘In the Pilansberg I tore my best trousers on the wire. I was helping, as a member of the family, to round up the donkeys for the watercart. At Nietverdiend a Large White bit a piece out of my second-best trousers and my leg. That was when I was a member of the family and was helping carry buckets of swill to the pig troughs. The farmer said that the Large White was just being playful that day. Well, maybe the Large White thought I was also a member of the family – his family, I mean. At Abjaterskop I nearly fell into a disused mineshaft on a farm there. Then I was a member of the family, assisting to throw a dead bull down the shaft. The bull had died of anthrax and I was helping to pull him by one haunch, and I was walking backwards, and when I jumped away from the opening of the mineshaft, it was almost too late.
‘I can also tell you what happened to me in the Dwarsberge when I was also a member of the family. And also about what happened when I was a member of the family at Derdepoort. I didn’t know that that family was having a misunderstanding with the family next door about water rights. And it was when I was opening a water furrow with a shovel that a load of buckshot went through my hat. As a member of the family, I was standing ankle-deep in the mud at the time, so I couldn’t run very fast.
And so you see, when I say I would rather pay, it’s not that I’m ignorant of the very fine tradition that the Marico has for the friendly and bountiful entertainment it accords the stranger. But I don’t wish to presume further on your kindness. If I have much more Bushveld hospitality, I might never see my wife and children again. It’s all very well being a member of somebody else’s family, but I have a duty to my own family. I want to get back to them alive.’
Johnny Coen remarked that the next time Gysbert van Tonder had an American tourist on his hands, he need not take him to the Limpopo, but could just show him around the Marico farms.
It was then that Gysbert van Tonder asked Org Losper straight out what his business was. And, to our surprise, the stranger was very frank about it.
‘It’s a new job that’s been made for me by the Department of Defence,’ Org Losper said. ‘There wasn’t that post before. You see, I worked very hard at the last elections, getting people’s names taken off the electoral roll. You’ve no idea how many names I got taken off. I even got some of our candidate’s supporters’ names crossed off. But you know how it is, we all make mistakes. It’s a very secret post. It’s a top Defence secret. I’m under oath not to disclose anything about it. But I am free to tell you that I’m making certain investigations on behalf of the Department of Defence. I’m trying to find out whether something has been seen here. But, of course, the post has been made for me, if you understand what I mean.’
We said we understood, all right. And we also knew that, since he was under oath about it, the nature of Org Losper’s investigations in the Groot Marico would leak out sooner or later.
As it happened, we found out within the next couple of days. A Mahalapi, who worked for Adriaan Geel, told us. And then we realised how difficult Org Losper’s work was. And we no longer envied him his Government job – even though it had been specially created for him.
If you know the Mtosas, you’ll understand why Org Losper’s job was so hard. For instance, there was only one member of the whole Mtosa tribe who had ever had any close contact with white people. And he had unfortunately grown up among the Trekboers, whose last piece of crockery, that they had brought with them from the Cape, had got broken almost a generation earlier.
We felt that the Department of Defence could have made an easier job for Org Losper than to send him around asking those questions of the Mtosas – they who did not even know what an ordinary kitchen saucer was, let alone a flying one.
Wanneer Jy ’n Lid van die Familie Is
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Uit ‘Secret Agent’ in Voorkamer Stories
deur Herman Charles Bosman
In elk geval, toe was daar dié vreemdeling, ’n middeljarige man met die naam Losper, met sy tas. Hy het in die poskantoor gesit en Jurie Steyn gevra of hy nie dalk vir hom huisvesting vir ’n paar dae kon gee nie, terwyl hy ’n bietjie daar rondkyk.
“Ek sal dieselfde tariewe betaal as wat ek in die losieshuis in Zeerust betaal het,” het meneer Losper gesê. “Natuurlik nie dat ek dink jy my te veel sal vra nie, maar ek word slegs ’n vasgestelde bedrag deur die Departement toegelaat vir akkommodasie en reisuitgawes.
“Nou luister hier, neef Losper,” het Jurie Steyn gesê. “Jy het my nie vertel wat jou eerste naam is nie, daarom noem ek jou maar neef Losper.”
“My eerste naam is Org,” het die vreemdeling gesê.
“Nou maar dan, neef Org,” het Jurie Steyn hervat. “Op die manier wat jy praat, kan ek sien dat die gewoontes van die Groot Marico vir jou iets onbekends is. In die eerste plek is ek ’n posmeester en ’n plaasboer. So tussen die rekeninge en die bloutong, weet ek nie watter een van die twee die ergste joppie is nie. Ek moet asghries op die muilwa sit en seëlwas op die possak. En soms raak ek deurmekaar. Dit sou met enige man in my posisie gebeur. Op ’n dag sal dit gebeur dat ek dan ’n belastingseël op my haarmuil plak en ’n halfmaan met ’n balk op die Bekkersdalse possak brand. Dan sal daar moeilikheid wees. Ek bedoel eintlik probleme met my haarmuil. Die poskantoor sal nie enige verskil agterkom nie. Maar my haarmuil kan op sy manier nogal snaaks raak. Hy sal nou wel die muilwa trek, maar dan moet alles wees soos hy dit graag wil hê. Hy sal nie daarvan hou dat mense vir hom lag omdat hy ’n belastingseël op sy agterstewe het nie. Soms dink ek dat my haarmuil weet dat ’n sjieling-belastingseël daai ding is wat jy op ’n stukkie papier plak na jy die vrederegter ’n klomp leuens vertel het …”
“Nee, nie leuens nie,” het Gysbert van Tonder hom in die rede geval.
“’n Hele klomp leuens,” het Jurie Steyn verder bygevoeg, “oor ’n ander man se beeste wat gaan staan en losloop het in sy lusernlande terwyl daardie ander man sy siek kind na Zeerust geneem het …”
Gysbert van Tonder, wat Jurie Steyn se buurman was, het so half uit sy riempiestoel uit opgestaan, en toe ’n paar snedige opmerkings oor Jurie Steyn en sy haarmuil gemaak. Hy het gesê dat hy nie veel tyd vir beide van hulle gehad het nie. En hy het gesê dat hy verkies het om liewer nie te beskryf hoe sy lusernlande gelyk het na Jurie Steyn se beeste daarmee klaargespeel het nie. Hy het gesê dat hy nie daardie beskrywing in die teenwoordigheid van ’n vreemdeling wou gebruik nie.
Dit het gelyk of meneer Losper wel belanggestel het, en hy het vorentoe gesit om te luister. Dit het ook gelyk of Gysbert van Tonder die woorde wel sou gebruik het, maar At Naudé – wat ’n draadloos gehad het waarna hy gereeld geluister het – het egter ’n einde aan die argument gemaak deur te sê dat dit ’n respektabele voorkamer was met familieportrette wat aan die mure gehang het.
“En daar is ook Jurie Steyn se vrou in die kombuis,” het At Naudé gesê. “Hiér kan jy nie dieselfde soort taal gebruik as wat in die Volksraad – waar daar net mans is – aanvaarbaar is nie.”
Eintlik was Jurie Steyn se vrou toe nie meer in die kombuis nie. Sedert die jong skoolonderwyser, wat sy hare met ’n middelpaadjie gekam het, hier by Bekkersdal opgedaag het, het Jurie Steyn se vrou baie belang in opvoedkundige sake begin stel. Gevolglik, toe die vreemdeling, Org Losper, gesê het dat hy van die Departement afkomstig was, het Jurie Steyn se vrou dadelik gedink – te oordeel aan sy geveinsde voorkoms – dat hy ’n inspekteur van skole moet wees. En so het sy dus daar en dan ’n boodskap aan die onderwyser gestuur om hom betyds te waarsku, sodat hy sy sae en hamers wat hy gebruik het vir sy eie private figuursaagwerk wat hy voor in die klaskamer gedoen het terwyl die kinders opstelle geskryf het, kon wegbêre.
Intussen het Jurie Steyn sy gevoelens mooi verduidelik.
“Jy sien, jy kan nie van my verwag om ’n losieshuis te bestuur en ook al die ander dinge te doen wat ek moet doen nie, neef Org,” het hy gesê. “Nietemin is jy baie welkom om hier te bly. En jy kan bly so lank as wat jy wil. Maar net dit – jy moenie aanbied om te betaal nie. As jy beter bekend was met hierdie wêreld hier rond, sou jy geweet het dat die Groot Marico ’n besondere reputasie vir gasvryheid het. Wanneer jy by iemand kom bly, sal hy in sy eer gekrenk voel as jy hom geld aanbied. Maar dit sal my baie gelukkig maak om jou uit te nooi om in my huis te bly asof jy lid van my eie familie is.”
Toe het Org Losper gesê dat dit presies was wat hy nie wou hê nie. En daaroor het hy ernstig gevoel.
“Wanneer jy deel is van ’n familie, kan jy vir niks nee sê nie,” het hy verduidelik. “Ek het my beste broek by Pilansberg aan ’n draad geskeur. As ’n lid van ’n familie het ek gehelp om die donkies na die waterkar toe te keer. By Nietverdiend het ’n grootwitvark ’n stuk uit my tweede beste broek en my been gebyt. Dit was toe ek ’n lid van die familie was en gehelp het om emmers vol varkkos na die trôe toe aan te dra. Die boer het gesê dat die grootwitte daardie dag net ’n bietjie baldadig was. Wel, miskien het die grootwitte gedink dat ek ook lid van die familie was – sy familie, dis wat ek bedoel. Op ’n plaas by Abjaterskop het ek amper by ’n mynskag wat in onbruik geraak het, ingeval. Ek het gehelp om ’n dooie bul in die skag af te gooi toe ek ’n lid van die familie was. Die bul het van miltsiekte gevrek en ek het gehelp om hom aan die een poot te trek. Terwyl ek agteruit geloop het, het ek net betyds van die opening van die mynskag af weggespring – dit was amper te laat.
Ek kan jou ook vertel wat met my in die Dwarsberge gebeur het toe ek daar ’n lid van die familie was. En ook wat met my gebeur het toe ek ’n lid van die familie by Derdepoort was. Ek het nie geweet dat daardie familie ’n groot skil oor waterregte met die familie langs hulle gehad het nie. En dit was toe ek ’n watervoor met ’n graaf oopgemaak het, dat ’n skoot bokhael deur my hoed getrek het. As lid van die familie het ek juis toe kniediep in die modder gestaan, dus kon ek nie te vinnig weghardloop nie.
So sal jy kan verstaan dat, as ek sê dat ek liewer wil betaal, is dit nie dat ek onkundig is oor die pragtige tradisie van die Marico vir die vriendelike en oorvloedige ontvangs wat hy aan vreemdelinge verleen nie. Maar ek wil nie julle vriendelikheid verder misbruik nie. As ek enige verdere bosveldse gasvryheid kry, mag ek dalk nooit weer my vrou en kinders sien nie. Dis alles goed en wel om ’n lid van iemand se familie te wees, maar ek het ’n plig teenoor my eie familie. Ek wil graag in lewende lywe na hulle toe terugkeer.”
Johnny Coen het opgemerk dat, wanneer Gysbert van Tonder weer ’n volgende keer ’n Amerikaanse toeris moes rondwys, hy hom nie na die Limpopo toe hoef te neem nie. Hy kon hom maar net na sommige plase in die Marico neem.
Dit was toe dat Gysbert van Tonder sommer reguit vir Org Losper gevra het wat sy besigheid was. En, tot ons verbasing, was die vreemdeling baie eerlik met sy antwoord.
“Dis ’n nuwe werk wat die Departement van Verdediging vir my geskep het,” het Org Losper gesê. Dié pos het nie voorheen bestaan nie. Jy sien, met die jongste verkiesing het ek baie hard gewerk deur mense se name van die kieserslys te verwyder. Jy het geen idee hoeveel name ek laat afhaal het nie. Ek het selfs die name van party van ons kandidaat se ondersteuners laat skrap. Maar jy weet hoe dit gaan, ons maak almal maar foute. Dis ’n hoogs vertroulike pos. Dis ’n belangrike verdedigingsgeheim. Ek is onder eed om niks daarvan te onthul nie. Maar ek kan julle egter wel vertel dat ek besig is om ’n bepaalde ondersoek namens die Departement van Verdediging in te stel. Ek probeer vasstel of iets hier rond gesien is. Maar die pos is natuurlik vir my geskep, as julle verstaan wat ek bedoel.”
Ons het gesê dat ons dit baie goed verstaan. Ons het ook geweet, aangesien hy daaroor onder eed was, dat die aard van Org Losper se navorsing in die Groot Marico vroeër of later sou uitlek.
En soos dit toe gebeur het, het ons binne die volgende paar dae wel uitgevind. ’n Mahalapi wat vir Adriaan Geel gewerk het, het ons vertel. En toe het ons begryp hoe moeilik Org Losper se werk was. En ons was nie langer afgunstig oor sy werk vir die regering nie – selfs al was dit spesiaal vir hom geskep.
As jy die Mtosas ken, sal jy verstaan waarom Org Losper se werk so moeilik was. Daar was byvoorbeeld net een lid van die Mtosa-stam wat al ooit in enige noue kontak met witmense was. Hy het ongelukkig grootgeword tussen die Trekboere, wie se laaste stukkie breekware, wat hulle saam uit die Kaap gebring het, amper ’n generasie vroeër gebreek het.
Ons het gevoel dat die Departement van Verdediging darem ’n makliker taak vir Org Losper kon gevind het eerder as om hom rond te stuur om sulke vrae aan die Mtosas te vra – hulle wat nie eers geweet het wat ’n alledaagse kombuispiering was nie, wat nog ’n vlieënde een.
The Irish Bar Library
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From Edward Carson QC
by Edward Marjoribanks
The Irish Bar was one of the best clubs to which a young Irish gentleman might belong: in those days it was very much a continuation of Trinity College life, and, with a few exceptions, a close preserve of its Protestant alumni, for most of its members were then Protestants and Unionists. It was a smaller and homelier corporation than the English Bar, and, although its prizes were less and its fees were lower, it made up in good-fellowship what it lacked in guineas.
Barristers had no separate chambers at or near the Four Courts, one of the most beautiful and noble buildings in the Empire, unhappily and wantonly destroyed by Rory O’Connor in 1922. In the main building was the famous ‘Bar Library’, the place ‘where barristers most did congregate’. The main room was rectangular, with narrow galleries round the sides, under which were the bookshelves, a small octagonal room at each corner, and another room, the ‘Long Room’, running at right angles and opening off one side. The entrance used was through one of the small rooms, which became an anteroom in which solicitors and their clerks could speak to counsel.
The barristers sat on forms at long desks, or at ‘the Round Table’, a large table in the centre of the main room and opposite the chief fireplace (where twelve men sat), or at small round tables or separate desks in the corner rooms, or occupied any other available space. The accommodation was quite insufficient for the number requiring it, and the Bar were packed like children in a poor school of the bad old days, but with far more discomfort than would now be tolerated in such a place.
But it will easily be seen that at such close quarters the members of the Bar were a much closer association than their brethren in London, that jealousy and backbiting were so uncomfortable as to become really impossible, and that friendship and good-fellowship were not only general but necessary in such conditions.
Every barrister then lived in the city, and came to Court regularly every morning. Having robed and bewigged himself, whether expecting to be in Court or not, he went to the library and began his work or prepared to go to Court. As in the House of Commons, though not strictly entitled under the regulations to any special seat, each man could acquire by custom his own.
In Ireland, owing to the limited amount of legal business, there was not the same possibility of specialising as in England, and a junior barrister had to be prepared to take a case or advise proceedings in any of the Courts. This general knowledge, perforce acquired, was very useful to Carson when he came to the English Bar, and on many occasions he surprised the English Judges and his own colleagues, such as A H Bremner, with his acquaintance with the most abstruse legal doctrines which are as a closed book to the ordinary English Common lawyer.
Nevertheless, the library had its rough divisions. For instance, the ‘Long Room’ was the abode chiefly of Chancery men and conveyancers. So far as not engaged in Court, everyone spent the day in the library, and the pampered English practitioner, with his private chambers and his senior and junior clerk, may well wonder how these Irishmen managed to transact their business.
At the entrance to the main room stood a ‘crier’ – this formidable official was in Carson’s time an ex-trooper named Bramley, with a clear, powerful voice. Solicitors or their clerks – barristers had none – requiring to see a barrister, or to summon him to Court, came to the library door and mentioned the name of their counsel. Bramley then shouted the name – his voice would have reached far beyond the uttermost corner of the library – and the barrister immediately stopped his drafting or reading and went to the door.
Bramley’s voice retained its power from early morning until the shadows fell, and, in justice be it recorded, the ex-trooper’s throat needed very little lubrication. He kept by him a printed sheet with the names of the barristers, and a man leaving the library would say where he was going – such as ‘Rolls’, ‘Common Pleas’, or ‘Exchequer’. Bramley then entered a note of this address after the man’s name, and if, when subsequently wanted, he did not respond when his name was called, Bramley would tell the enquirer where to look for him.
The shouting of the names and the tramping of the men between their seats and the door made a great noise. In addition to this, the ‘library boys’ (some of these attendants were very old men) were obliged to go trotting or tottering about at their quickest speed in their search of the books called for by the members of the Bar. Further, there was much talk and laughter – quite unrestrained – chiefly at the fire and the Round Table, the centre of legal gossip and scandal of the Kingdom of Ireland.
To the newcomer, like Carson in 1877, the place seemed more like pandemonium than a place to work. He wondered how he would, if a solicitor ever paid a call on him, even hear his name called above the hubbub, let alone do any study in such a place. Soon, however, like everybody else, he became used to it, and grew able to shut his ears to every sound but Bramley’s stentorian ‘E H Carson’, a cry at first rarely heard, but one which grew almost monotonous in its frequence as the years passed. Moreover, Carson learned in the library that a general noise, no matter how loud, is not so distressing to the worker as two persons in close proximity holding a whispered conversation.
The library system had very great advantages: gentlemen of the Bar from the ‘six quarters of Ireland’ – in 1877 there were six circuits – were thrown together, and, as the Catholics and Nationalists began to come to the Bar, the library became a fine centre of friendship and comradeship between men who were politically and religiously opposed. Indeed, the Bar Library was the best social club in Dublin. Moreover, it was a great advantage for a young man to be thrown amongst men older and more experienced than himself: a junior could always ask for assistance from a senior, and such help was freely given.
Counsel engaged together in a case could discuss their business together, and the most useful consultations were those informal ones held in the library. More formal consultations were held in counsel’s houses in the evening, or in consultation rooms at the Courts immediately before or after the Courts rose. The ‘formal’ consultations, however, frequently degenerated into informality, being held at home among Irishmen, and libations in claret and champagne were freely poured out to the legal Muse, who is never thus honoured by her English devotees in their dignified professional chambers.
Die lerse Balie-biblioteek
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Uit Edward Carson QC
deur Edward Majoribanks
Die Ierse balie was een van die beste klubs waaraan ’n jong Ierse heer kon behoort: In daardie dae was dit grootliks ’n voortsetting van die doen en late in Trinity Kollege, en met ’n paar uitsonderings, is dit goed in stand gehou deur sy protestantse oudstudente, want die meeste van sy lede was toe protestante en unioniste. Dit was ’n kleiner en huisliker vereniging as die Engelse balie, en hoewel sy belonings minder was en sy fooie laer, het dit in aangename kameraadskap vergoed waar dit in ghienies te kort geskiet het.
Advokate het geen afsonderlike kamers by of naby die Vier Howe gehad nie. Dié gebou wat ongelukkig, maar moedswillig, deur Rory O’Connor in 1922 vernietig is, was een van die mooiste en grootse geboue in die Britse Ryk. In die hoofgebou was die beroemde balie-biblioteek die plek waar advokate saamgedrom en bymekaargekom het. Die hoofkamer was reghoekig met smal galerye om die kante waaronder daar boekrakke was. Daar was ’n klein agthoekige kamertjie op elke hoek, en nog ’n kamer, die “Lang Kamer”, was reghoekig daarmee met ’n opening aan die een kant. Die ingang was deur een van die klein kamertjies wat ’n voorkamer geword het waar prokureurs en hulle klerke met advokate kon praat.
Die advokate het op banke by lang lessenaars gesit of by die “Ronde Tafel”, ’n groot tafel in die middel van die hoofkamer oorkant die groot kaggel (waar daar twaalf mense gesit het), of by klein ronde tafeltjies of afsonderlike lessenaars in die hoekkamers, of anders kon hulle enige beskikbare plek beset. Die akkommodasie was heel onvoldoende vir die getalle wat dit benodig het, en die balie was volgepak soos kinders in ’n armoedige skool in die slegte ou dae, maar met baie meer ongerief as wat nou in so ’n plek geduld sou word.
Dit is maklik verstaanbaar dat, met kwartiering so na aan mekaar, die lede van die balie ’n gemeenskap was wat baie nader aan mekaar was as hulle broeders in Londen. Jaloesie en skinderpraatjies was buite die kwessie en vriendskap en kameraadskap was nie net aan die orde van die dag nie, maar noodsaaklik onder sulke omstandighede.
In daardie dae het elke advokaat in die stad gewoon en gereeld elke oggend hof toe gekom. Na hy sy toga aangetrek het en homself gepruik het, en of hy verwag het om in die hof te verskyn of nie, het hy na die biblioteek toe gegaan om te werk of om reg te maak om hof toe te gaan. Net soos in die Laerhuis was daar nie spesiale sitplekke waarop hulle geregtig was nie, maar elke man het uit gewoonte tog ’n eie sitplek bekom.
As gevolg van die beperkte hoeveelheid regsake, was dit nie moontlik om te spesialiseer soos in Engeland nie, en ’n junior advokaat moes bereid wees om in enige hof sake te behartig of advies te gee. Die algemene kennis wat as gevolg hiervan noodgedwonge verwerf is, was besonder nuttig vir Carson toe hy na die Engelse balie gegaan het, en op baie geleenthede het hy die Engelse regters en sy eie kollegas, soos A. H. Bremner, verras met sy kennis van die obskuurste regskundige doktrines, wat vir die alledaagse Engelse regsgeleerde ’n geslote boek was.
Nogtans het die biblioteek sy eie algemene verdelings gehad. Die Long Room het byvoorbeeld hoofsaaklik die “Chancery” manne en die aktebesorgers gehuisves. Wanneer hulle nie in die howe betrokke was nie, het almal hul dae in die biblioteek deurgebring. Die verwende Engelse advokaat, met sy private kamers en sy senior en junior klerk, kan seker net wonder hoe die Iere daarin geslaag het om hulle sake daar te verrig.
Die “crier” het by die ingang van die hoofkamer gestaan – hierdie formidabele amptenaar was in Carson se tyd ’n voormalige sersant-majoor met die naam Bramley, wat ’n helder, kragtige stem gehad het. Prokureurs of hulle klerke – advokate het nie klerke gehad nie – wat gevra het om ’n advokaat te spreek, of om hom na die hof te ontbied, het na die deur van die biblioteek gekom en die naam van die besondere advokaat genoem. Bramley het daarop die naam uitgebasuin – sy stem kon ver anderkant die verste hoek van die biblioteek gehoor word – en die advokaat het dan dadelik sy voorbereiding of studie gestaak en deur toe gegaan.
Bramley se stem het van die vroeë ure in die oggend af tot laat in die middag, sy dinamiek behou, en, laat dit in alle opregtheid aangeteken word, die sersant-majoor se keel het baie min olie nodig gehad. Hy het ’n gedrukte bladsy met die name van die advokate by hom gehad, en ’n advokaat wat by die biblioteek uitgeloop het, moes hom eers vertel waarheen hy oppad was – soos “Rolls”, “Common Pleas” of “Exchequer”. Bramley het dan ’n nota van sy bestemming agter die man se naam gemaak, en wanneer iemand daarna die advokaat gesoek het en hy nie gereageer het op die uitroep van sy naam nie, kon Bramley die navraer vertel waar om na hom te gaan soek.
Die roep van die name en die rondlopery van die mense tussen hulle sitplekke en die deur, het ’n groot lawaai veroorsaak. Verder was daar die “biblioteek boys” (sommige van hierdie “boys” was manne wat al baie oud was) wat genoodsaak was om op ’n drafstap, of so vinnig as wat hulle al strompelende kon, na die gevraagde boeke vir die balielede te gaan soek. Ook het daar heelwat van ’n gepratery en ’n gelaggery plaasgevind – heel onbeheersd – hoofsaaklik om die kaggel en die Round Table wat die middelpunt van regskundige geskinder en skandale in die Ierse koninkryk was.
Vir ’n nuweling soos Carson in 1877, het die plek meer na ’n moerse deurmekaarspul gelyk as ’n plek om in te werk. Hy het gewonder hoe hy, wanneer ’n prokureur na hom sou verneem, sy naam bo só ’n kabaal sou kon hoor, om nie eers daarvan te praat om in so ’n plek te studeer nie. Gou egter, net soos al die ander, het hy daaraan gewoond geraak, en het dit vir hom moontlik geword om sy ore teen elke klank te sluit, behalwe Bramley se bulderende “E. H. Carson”, wat aanvanklik nie veel gehoor is nie, maar wel ’n roepstem wat later soos die jare verbygegaan het, amper vervelig geword het as gevolg van die dikwelse herhaling daarvan. In die biblioteek het Carson agtergekom dat ’n algemene geraas, maak nie saak hoe hard dit was nie, nie so kwellend vir ’n werker was as wanneer twee persone naby mekaar in ’n fluistergesprek gewikkel was nie.
Die biblioteekstelsel het groot voordele gehad: Die here van die balie vanuit die “ses Ierse streke” – in 1877 was daar ses hofstreke – was saamgevoeg, en soos die katolieke en die nasionaliste begin het om na die balie toe te kom, het die biblioteek ’n aangename sentrum van vriendskap en kameraadskap tussen persone wat polities en godsdienstig sterk met mekaar verskil het, geword. Die balie was inderdaad die beste sosiale klub in Dublin. Verder was dit ’n groot voordeel vir ’n jong man om tussen ouer en meer ervarenes te beweeg – ’n junior kon altyd vir ’n senior om bystand vra, en sulke hulp was vrylik beskikbaar.
Advokate wat saam in ’n saak betrokke was, kon dit met mekaar bespreek, en die nuttigste oorlegplegings was dáárdie wat informeel in die biblioteek gehou is. Meer formele beraadslagings is in die aand aan huise van die advokate gehou, of in konsultasiekamers in die howe direk voor of na die howe verdaag het. As die “formele” konsultasies aan huise van Iere gehou is, het dit egter dikwels gedegenereer na informaliteit toe. En glasies drankoffers van rooi wyn en sjampanje is vrolik geklink op die Muse van regsgeleerdes – sy wat nooit op dié manier deur haar Engelse aanhangers, in hulle waardige en deftige professionele kamers, vereer is nie.
Stars in their Courses
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From A Bekkersdal Marathon
by Herman Charles Bosman
‘It said over the wireless,’ At Naudé announced, ‘that the American astronomers are moving out of Johannesburg. They are taking the telescopes, and the things they have been studying the stars with, to Australia. There is too much smoke in Johannesburg for them to be able to see the stars properly.’
He paused, as though inviting comment. But none of us had anything to say. We weren’t much interested in the Americans and their stars. Or in Australia, either, for that matter.
‘The American astronomers have been in Johannesburg for many years,’ At Naudé went on, wistfully, as though the impending removal of the astronomical research station was a matter of personal regret to him. ‘They have been here for years, and now they are going because of the smoke. It gets into their eyes – just when they’ve nearly seen a new star in their telescopes, I suppose. Well, smoke is like that, of course. It gets into your eyes just at the wrong time.’
What At Naudé had said now was something that we could all understand. It was something of which we all had experience. It was different from what he had been saying before. Getting smoke in your eyes, at an inconvenient moment, was something everybody in the Marico understood.
Immediately, Chris Welman started telling us about the time he was asked by Koos Nienaber, as a favour, to stand on a rant of the Dwarsberge, from where he was able to see the Derdepoort police post very clearly. Koos Nienaber, it would seem, had private business with a chief near Ramoutsa, which had to do with bringing a somewhat large herd of cattle with long horns across the border.
‘I could see the police post very well from there,’ Chris Welman said. ‘I was standing near a Mtosa hut. When the Mtosa woman lifted a petrol tin onto her head and went down in the direction of the spruit, for water, I moved over to an iron pot that a fire had been burning underneath all afternoon.’
He could still see those two policemen – dealing out the cards to each other and taking turns to drink out of a black bottle – quite distinctly, Chris Welman said, when he lifted the lid of the iron pot. He wasn’t in the least bit worried about those two policemen, then. Actually, he admitted, he was, if anything, more concerned lest the Mtosa woman should suddenly come back to the hut, with the petrol tin on her head, having forgotten something. And it had to be at that moment, just when he was lifting the lid, that smoke from the fire crackling underneath the pot got into his eyes. It was the most awful kind of stabbing smoke that you could ever imagine, Chris Welman said. What the Mtosa woman had made that fire with, he had no idea. Cow dung and bitter-bessie, he knew. That was a kind of fuel that received some countenance, still, in the less frequented areas along the Malopo. And it made a kind of smoke which, if it got into your eyes, could blind you temporarily for up to at least a quarter of an hour.
Chris Welman went on to say that he was also not unfamiliar with the effects of the smoke of the renosterbos, in view of the fact that he retained many childhood memories of a farm in the Eastern Province, where it was still quite usual to find a house with an old-fashioned abba-kitchen.
Chris Welman sighed deeply. Partly, we felt, that sigh had its roots in a nostalgia for the past. His next words showed, however, that it was linked with a grimmer sort of reality.
‘When I got back to the top of that rant,’ Chris Welman declared simply, ‘the two policemen weren’t there, at the police post, anymore. And Koos Nienaber had been fined so often before, that this time the magistrate would not let him off with a fine. Koos Nienaber took it like a man when the magistrate gave him six months,’ Chris Welman concluded.
More than one of us, sitting in Jurie Steyn’s voorkamer, sighed, too, then. We also knew what it was to get smoke in your eyes at the wrong moment. And we also knew what it was to hold a sudden and unexpected conversation with a policeman on border patrol, while you were nervously shifting a pair of wire-cutters from one hand to the other.
Gysbert van Tonder brought the discussion back to the subject of the stars.
‘If the American astronomers are leaving South Africa because they can’t stand our sort of smoke,’ Gysbert van Tonder declared, ‘well, I suppose there’s nothing we can do about it. I didn’t think that an astronomer, watching the stars at night through a telescope, would worry very much about smoke – or about cinders from looking out of a train window, either, for that matter – getting into his eyes. I imagined somehow that an astronomer would be above that sort of thing.
Young Vermaak, the schoolteacher, was able to put Gysbert van Tonder right then. ‘It isn’t the smoke that gets into their eyes,’ he explained. ‘It’s the smoke in the atmosphere that interferes with the observations and the mathematical calculations that astronomers have to make to get a knowledge of the movement of the heavenly bodies.’
We looked at each other, then, with feelings of awe. In general, of course, we’d never had much respect for the schoolteacher, seeing that all he had was book-learning, but what did give us pause for reflection on this occasion was the thought that just in his brain – just inside his head, that didn’t seem very much different from any one of our heads – the young schoolmaster should have so much knowledge.
Only Jurie Steyn was not taken out of his depth.
‘It’s like that book my wife used to study a great deal before we got married,’ Jurie Steyn said. ‘I have told you about it before. It’s called Napoleon’s Dream Book. Well, that’s a lot like what young Vermaak has been talking about now. At the back of the Napoleon dream book, it’s got ‘What the Stars Foretell’ for every day of the year. It says that on Wednesdays you must wear green, and on some other day you must write a letter to a relative you haven’t seen since I don’t know when. Anyway, I suppose that’s why those American star-gazers are leaving Johannesburg. It’s something they saw in the stars, I expect.’
Chris Welman said he wondered whether what the American astronomers had been seeing through their telescope was that the star of the American nation was going up, or that it was going down.
‘Perhaps Jurie Steyn’s wife can work it out from the dream book,’ Gysbert van Tonder said.
