59) Manchester Gardens
Manchester Gardens
Not long after we finished up at the store I got a phone call from a complete stranger. He introduced himself as Brain Morris and told me he was the Head Ranger at the National Parks and Wild Life department in the Bunga Forest. He wanted me to go and see him with a view to working part time in the office there. I told him that I had no office skills and that I was not very keen to work at all. He was very insistent that I could manage the job and said it was only a part time position. I told him I could not type and I could not spell but he replied that neither could he and he had been managing the work along with his regular tasks for a couple of months since his last assistant had left. He eventually persuaded me to at least go and see him about it. So the next morning I drove along to The Manchester Gardens, which was the name of the National Parks department there. Robert Magden, an early settler to the area had called his farm after his home town of Manchester. He had later sold it to a man called Fred Taylor who had developed it into a magnificent garden full of plants from all over the world he bequeathed it to the nation and it was taken over and run by the Department of National Parks and Wild Life. The Department had enlarged and improved it over the years and it was now 200 hectares of almost any kind of flower you could hope to see. There were tropical aloes, proteas from the Cape, indigenous forest ferns, flame lilies that are the Rhodesian floral emblem, roses, hydrangeas, azaleas, fuchsias and many more. They were all set out around several lakes, with streams and bridges, lovely green lawns and paths and walkways through the beautiful rain forest that surrounded it all. There was also a camping and caravan site for visitors.
When Brian showed me what the work entailed I did feel that I could manage it but still had not really wanted the job. But there was no reason why I should not take it and I could see that Brian did need someone to help him. He was a horticulturist and his job was to keep the gardens looking good, supervising the staff of about twenty or so workers. Answering the phone, counting the takings, filling in government forms and typing the odd letter was a waste of time for a man who had a degree in horticulture from the famous Kew Gardens in London. I agreed to take the job and said I would start at the beginning of the next month, about a fortnight away. Brian wanted me to start the next day but that was not convenient for me so we agree that I would start the following week. It was good to have someone so eager to employ me but I did not kid myself, it was only because I was there. There were not many non working women living in the Vumba and the job was not well enough paid to warrant someone coming up from Umtali for the few hours a week that it would take to do the work.
The job was not difficult, only answering the phone, counting and banking the money collected at the camp and caravan site, filling in various government forms, typing Brain’s monthly report and answering a few letters. Brian was right when he had said that he couldn’t type or spell either. He typed with one finger, at least I used two in those days. The most used book in the office was our dictionary. I remember he pointed out that I had spelt February wrong. I had spelt it Febuary so we had to look it up and I had to retype the letter. But then I picked him out for spelling Vehicle wrong he had left out the h and spelt it veicle so we were one as bad as the other. He never seemed to have problems with the long Latin names for the plants though, he asked me to check them before I typed out the hand written report that he gave me, but they were always correct.
Most of the staff had been at Manchester Gardens for a long time, they knew their jobs and kept the gardens in tiptop condition. While I was there we were asked by the government department to get all the personal particulars of the staff updated so that they could be included in the new government pension scheme. There were unusual questions that we had to ask like how many wives do you have? Or do you have a birth certificate? These workers had never been on a pension scheme before and as many of them did not have proper birth certificates we just had to take their word for their ages. We had one old worker who professed to be 72 years old and he could well have been, he certainly looked it even though he was fit and a fairly good worker The government regulations said that the workers had to take retirement at 65 and so this old man should have been laid off but Brian knew that as the pension scheme was just starting he would not get any pension if he was laid off, so to help him we tried to get the worker to say he was only 60. At least with five years on the pension scheme he might retire with a small payment but no matter how hard we tried to explain this to him he was insistent that he was 72. Eventually the African foreman who was acting as an interpreter to make sure that he understood exactly what we were saying just said “I know this madala (old man) and he is only 60” so we quickly put that on the form and did not ask our question again and left it at that.
Telephone contact from The Gardens was always a bit precarious so every day at 11.00 am, Brian if he was in or the foreman, if Brain was out would contact head office on a short wave radio. It was just to let them know that everything was alright, I suppose it was a habit that they had started during the war and no one had got round to cancelling it. One morning Brian said that he had been told over the radio that there had been a bad accident on the road into Umtali involving a truck. When Jonny came home from work that evening he told me that the truck was the timber truck belonging to Craig MacGiles, and it was taking the logs to the sawmill in Umtali. The driver had been unable to negotiate one of the bends in the road and the truck had left the road and tipped on its side. It had been loaded with huge logs and they had rolled off the truck and killed one of the workers who had been riding on top of the logs. It was a big blow to Craig, the insurance covered the worker but there was no money left to buy a new truck so from then on Craig had to rely on transport contractors to take his logs to the sawmill. This was more expensive and not very reliable. I remember once Craig wanted to contact an African man that he knew owned a truck but he lived far away in a remote part of Zimbabwe. I think it was in the Buhera district but I am not sure of that. Jonny and I went to see if we could find him and I remember that it was a very long journey. We took Craig’s little van and we were sure that we must have been the first white people to go to the area since the end of the war. The children were pleased to see us as we had a bag of sweets in the car that we shared with them but the very young children were frightened of the strangers and ran away and hid from us. We had taken one of our workers who knew the way otherwise we would never have found the contractor. It took a long time but we did find him eventually. We gave him Craig’s message and he agreed to call on Craig soon. Then we started for home again. It was a very hot day and the road was very dusty. In one place we saw a group of rough looking men, armed with rifles coming along the road towards us. They did not look at all friendly but we passed through them without an incident, just some very aggressive looks. When we were out of earshot the worker who was sitting on the back of the van leaned over and put his head through the open window and said “those were *!-^ing terrorists sir”. We had to laugh at the polite way he said it, even though his language was a little colourful.
The journey home was long and thirsty. We were looking for a place to buy ourselves some cool drinks but there was nowhere along that road. I don’t think I have ever been so thirsty and I remember the feeling still today. It makes me realise how terrible it would be to be lost in the dessert or at sea without water. We were only a few hours without a drink, what would it be like to go days and days without water? I am very grateful that I have never had to experience that. When we did eventually come to a small wayside store, it did not have electricity so the drink was tepid but nothing had ever tasted so good. We bought more drinks to take with us along the road and off we went again.
As the sun was going down and it started to get dark a flock of guinea fowl ran into the road and although Jonny tried to avoid them we did hit one. The worker on the back banged the roof of the cabin of the van so that we would stop. He jumped off and ran back to pick up the dead bird. He said it would make a good meal, he offered it to us but I think was very happy that we declined it. Judging by the amount of damage that bird did to the radiator grill on the van I think he was a tough old bird and would have taken a lot of cooking to make him edible. The radiator grill was badly damaged and the radiator was dented but fortunately we were still able to drive, as we were a long way from home. We got home safe and sound though, no more thirst, guinea fowl or *!-^ing terrorists.
When Brian showed me what the work entailed I did feel that I could manage it but still had not really wanted the job. But there was no reason why I should not take it and I could see that Brian did need someone to help him. He was a horticulturist and his job was to keep the gardens looking good, supervising the staff of about twenty or so workers. Answering the phone, counting the takings, filling in government forms and typing the odd letter was a waste of time for a man who had a degree in horticulture from the famous Kew Gardens in London. I agreed to take the job and said I would start at the beginning of the next month, about a fortnight away. Brian wanted me to start the next day but that was not convenient for me so we agree that I would start the following week. It was good to have someone so eager to employ me but I did not kid myself, it was only because I was there. There were not many non working women living in the Vumba and the job was not well enough paid to warrant someone coming up from Umtali for the few hours a week that it would take to do the work.
The job was not difficult, only answering the phone, counting and banking the money collected at the camp and caravan site, filling in various government forms, typing Brain’s monthly report and answering a few letters. Brian was right when he had said that he couldn’t type or spell either. He typed with one finger, at least I used two in those days. The most used book in the office was our dictionary. I remember he pointed out that I had spelt February wrong. I had spelt it Febuary so we had to look it up and I had to retype the letter. But then I picked him out for spelling Vehicle wrong he had left out the h and spelt it veicle so we were one as bad as the other. He never seemed to have problems with the long Latin names for the plants though, he asked me to check them before I typed out the hand written report that he gave me, but they were always correct.
Most of the staff had been at Manchester Gardens for a long time, they knew their jobs and kept the gardens in tiptop condition. While I was there we were asked by the government department to get all the personal particulars of the staff updated so that they could be included in the new government pension scheme. There were unusual questions that we had to ask like how many wives do you have? Or do you have a birth certificate? These workers had never been on a pension scheme before and as many of them did not have proper birth certificates we just had to take their word for their ages. We had one old worker who professed to be 72 years old and he could well have been, he certainly looked it even though he was fit and a fairly good worker The government regulations said that the workers had to take retirement at 65 and so this old man should have been laid off but Brian knew that as the pension scheme was just starting he would not get any pension if he was laid off, so to help him we tried to get the worker to say he was only 60. At least with five years on the pension scheme he might retire with a small payment but no matter how hard we tried to explain this to him he was insistent that he was 72. Eventually the African foreman who was acting as an interpreter to make sure that he understood exactly what we were saying just said “I know this madala (old man) and he is only 60” so we quickly put that on the form and did not ask our question again and left it at that.
Telephone contact from The Gardens was always a bit precarious so every day at 11.00 am, Brian if he was in or the foreman, if Brain was out would contact head office on a short wave radio. It was just to let them know that everything was alright, I suppose it was a habit that they had started during the war and no one had got round to cancelling it. One morning Brian said that he had been told over the radio that there had been a bad accident on the road into Umtali involving a truck. When Jonny came home from work that evening he told me that the truck was the timber truck belonging to Craig MacGiles, and it was taking the logs to the sawmill in Umtali. The driver had been unable to negotiate one of the bends in the road and the truck had left the road and tipped on its side. It had been loaded with huge logs and they had rolled off the truck and killed one of the workers who had been riding on top of the logs. It was a big blow to Craig, the insurance covered the worker but there was no money left to buy a new truck so from then on Craig had to rely on transport contractors to take his logs to the sawmill. This was more expensive and not very reliable. I remember once Craig wanted to contact an African man that he knew owned a truck but he lived far away in a remote part of Zimbabwe. I think it was in the Buhera district but I am not sure of that. Jonny and I went to see if we could find him and I remember that it was a very long journey. We took Craig’s little van and we were sure that we must have been the first white people to go to the area since the end of the war. The children were pleased to see us as we had a bag of sweets in the car that we shared with them but the very young children were frightened of the strangers and ran away and hid from us. We had taken one of our workers who knew the way otherwise we would never have found the contractor. It took a long time but we did find him eventually. We gave him Craig’s message and he agreed to call on Craig soon. Then we started for home again. It was a very hot day and the road was very dusty. In one place we saw a group of rough looking men, armed with rifles coming along the road towards us. They did not look at all friendly but we passed through them without an incident, just some very aggressive looks. When we were out of earshot the worker who was sitting on the back of the van leaned over and put his head through the open window and said “those were *!-^ing terrorists sir”. We had to laugh at the polite way he said it, even though his language was a little colourful.
The journey home was long and thirsty. We were looking for a place to buy ourselves some cool drinks but there was nowhere along that road. I don’t think I have ever been so thirsty and I remember the feeling still today. It makes me realise how terrible it would be to be lost in the dessert or at sea without water. We were only a few hours without a drink, what would it be like to go days and days without water? I am very grateful that I have never had to experience that. When we did eventually come to a small wayside store, it did not have electricity so the drink was tepid but nothing had ever tasted so good. We bought more drinks to take with us along the road and off we went again.
As the sun was going down and it started to get dark a flock of guinea fowl ran into the road and although Jonny tried to avoid them we did hit one. The worker on the back banged the roof of the cabin of the van so that we would stop. He jumped off and ran back to pick up the dead bird. He said it would make a good meal, he offered it to us but I think was very happy that we declined it. Judging by the amount of damage that bird did to the radiator grill on the van I think he was a tough old bird and would have taken a lot of cooking to make him edible. The radiator grill was badly damaged and the radiator was dented but fortunately we were still able to drive, as we were a long way from home. We got home safe and sound though, no more thirst, guinea fowl or *!-^ing terrorists.
posted by JC at
10:20 pm
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