Rain, Reminiscence, Loyalty and Guilt.

Rozanne wistfully looking into the evening sky for the rain that's gone!

It is Monday morning, a day later than when I usually commence my blog. The only reason I can attribute it to is that on Saturday night, we had our first real rain in four months, 20mm. In recognition of its coming, I did absolutely nothing yesterday; Sunday, and to be honest, feel no better for it. Unlike on the farm back in Zimbabwe, when the rains came, it indicated the beginning of a hectic eight months from planting to harvest. It's amusing how you feel better about yourself when you manage to do something constructive. Otherwise, you, or I at least, always go to bed thinking it was a wasted day. 

The late Bill Middleton, in the first maize crop he grew for me on Rydal Farm. A gentleman.

“At my age and with my health status, I cannot afford to waste a day. Wasted days are one of these contradictions, nice at the time, but afterwards, you guiltily think having done something would have been far more rewarding.” - Peter McSporran

Today, Monday, I made up for yesterday's idleness by spraying my roses and fruit trees for disease following the rain, along with applying foliar nutrients to the fruit trees. Late in the year to apply nutrients, yes, but if nothing else, good exercise for me with a knapsack on my back. Overnight, our roses are bursting into life again after the extreme heat and dry weather, sending out shoots for hopefully a last Autumn flush of blooms before winter. Thankfully, we can now save on the cost of water, which we use very sparingly, more for plant survival purposes rather than production. We could smell the rain in the air before it arrived. Smell or feel? I am not quite sure, but the heavy atmosphere certainly made us imagine we could smell it. In saying this, I am sure that all of you who hail from Africa or have lived there will remember the smell that follows the first rains of the season. For a farmer, the best and most sought-after scent in Africa is petrichor, a technical term for the smell derived from the chemicals released by bacteria in the soil and plant oils at the arrival of the annual rains.

The late Dave and Joan. Dave saw a lot of action during the war as a chopper technician who went on to become a professional farm manager.

“The first rain in Africa carries the smell of the world coming alive — a smell  imprinted in one's memory, bringing hope for the future, and adding strength to the fight for survival.” - Peter McSporran

At my age, social interaction with friends is also deemed constructive, something many can no longer do due to circumstances, or worse still, feel unable to do so for various reasons. In heeding my own words in this blog, Rozanne and I have made it a frequent task to try to contact old friends or, at the very least, ascertain their whereabouts and status. What is nice with the blog is that every now and again, an old friend or acquaintance comes across it and then contacts me. This week, it was Dudley Searle, it being thirty years since we served on the Commercial Farmers Union Council together. Many of you will recall he was abducted in Mozambique by the rebel group Renamo and held for several months before escaping—a remarkable tale. I greatly appreciate these renewals of contact; they always bring back memories, whether they're scary incidents from my army days, silly ones brought about by too much drink, or even pleasant ones from a night out with friends and family. They are all most welcome. Just this past week, I heard an old fishing buddy I thought was dead is still alive. What a pleasant surprise. I look forward to contacting him to share the news of his resurrection in my life.

Tony and the late Helen Leckie were both hospitalised for a long time after a severe beating by farm invaders. Helen never recovered and sadly has passed after spending her later years in a wheelchair

One group of people with whom I keep in regular touch are my former farm managers or their spouses, all of whom have become my friends. I say spouses, as sadly some of them passed, most much younger than me. The majority of my farm managers went on to farm on their own right including Tony Leckie, sadly his wife Helen passed having never fully recovered following a dreadful assault both she and Tony received at hands of the farm invaders, Mike von Memerty’s wife Karen, Mike having passed, Ian (Rinty) Lindsay and his good wife Daphne, Colin and Penny Smith, Graham Smith, Choppy and Karen Steyn and finally but not least just this week I had a lengthy text conversation with Ang de Jager, the wife of the late Darrel. All of these individuals share several commonalities: they all worked for me, they were all incredibly diligent and loyal, they all left me to farm in their own right, something I am proud of, but sadly, they were all to lose their farms during the farm invasions. So the timeline I have reached in my blog is painful for them, and while Ang and I were reminiscing about a braai we had for Darrel on his thirtieth birthday, with a whole pig on a homemade rotisserie made by Darrel’s dad, Quentin, we also talked about their sad times. Darrel and Ang had struggled to have a child, and after using some fertility drugs, she must correct me if I am wrong about the drug; she ended up with three at one time. By this time, they were farming independently in Wedza under the auspices of the Zimbabwe Tobacco Association Farm Tenant Scheme. This was in May 2000 and coincided with the farm invasions, and while Ang was recovering in Harare from giving birth to the triplets, Darrel and his neighbour Kane Matthews were abducted and held for more than eighteen hours. A harrowing experience, as by that time, farmers were being murdered following abduction by the invaders. On being released, they had to leave the farm and applied for a visa to emigrate to Australia, in the meantime staying with Darrel’s folks at Mazvikidei, where they had a fish farm. Sadly, although successfully settling in Australia, Darrel was to die of cancer after a brave fight, leaving Ang to bring up the children on her own, very successfully I should add. Darrel’s folks, unfortunately, were to have their home burnt down by the invaders at a later date. So much pain for one family to bear.

The late Darrel and Angela de Jager, with their triplets, featured on the Zimbabwe Tobacco Magazine following the loss of their farm to invaders at his parents' house. The thigss also burned down the house seen here at a later date.

“I often wonder how some people's hearts can suffer so much duress, and yet they do. An example to us all. Never give up.” - Peter McSporran

I also had a number of managers who had no wish to go farming in their own right, and as professional managers, also require our respect. Some had actually tried to go on their own previously and failed or gave up, but the majority never had any wish to. These included the Middletons, father, Bill and son, Malcolm, Jack Readings, the Biller brothers, Tommy and Andre, the late Dave Craft and his lovely wife Joan, to name a few. Perhaps it is a good time to mention those who remained with me when we finally lost our properties. They very much did this without my guidance as I was by then trying to relocate to Zambia and move some equipment up there, which caused them added stress from both the invaders and the labourers, who were living in fear of losing their jobs. Surprisingly, Ian and Daphne Lindsay returned to work for me for the third time, having lost their farm earlier. Ian’s dedication and loyalty were second to none and they have happily settled in Zambia where Daphne has a successful travel business, and Ian manages chicken farms. Tom Biller was on my Rydal farm, and he, being very much on a limb, was very badly treated by the invaders and was the first to leave, while Dave Craft on Diandra remained to the very end, as did Wayne and Joey Marias. Guiltily, I now only fully appreciate the loyalty they showed me.

As many of them or their spouses have passed away, I decided to post their photographs this week. Besides Dave and Joan Craft, I was older than they were. How much was it due to the stress of losing their farms? Who knows?

Karen and the late Mike von Memerty. An excellent farmer who died far too soon.

In my calls, I have felt some guilt in learning the situation of some of my old friends, mainly due to health or the loss of their life partners, which is not as good as I imagined. I feel guilty, as I should have been there for them to at least express their feelings if they so wanted. With the death of a partner, there is always loneliness. However, another phenomenon I notice is imagined guilt. Many somehow feel they should have done more, they did not appreciate their partner enough or in fact were downright cruel, although real bullies would never admit this. Bullies have no remorse, only pleasure in someone else's pain, mental or physical.

“One of the most common senses of guilt is brought about by loyalty to a loved one. That is imagined guilt, and it very often relies on someone else's action, normally a loved one, to relieve you of this guilt.” - Peter McSporran

Another guilt is exceedingly hard to mitigate, and that is when a partnership breaks up, especially when it is not a mutual fault. But from my own experience and from my conversations, the worst guilt seems to be carried by those whose partner suffers from an addiction, be it drugs, alcohol, gambling, or even spending, to name the most common. This is nearly always an ‘imagined guilt’. Here, there is a requirement for ‘tough love,’ which is the most challenging kind of love to provide. You can support an addict if they are willing to reform their ways, but all too commonly, they do not, despite their protestations to the contrary. The guilt related to this situation also brings about a feeling of helplessness, a search for answers almost impossible to find, if at all, and can finally bring about depression in you, the supporting person. 

“Imagined guilt is a seriously damaging emotion. The truth is, if a partner, a relative or a friend does not seek help for their addiction, is abusive or violent, continuously lies, breaks their word in their efforts to fight the addiction, and is destructive and causing stress in the household, it is time to walk away. Remember, there is a fine line between being a supporter and becoming an enabler.” - Peter McSporran

The late Jack Readings.

Remember, I am just a layman sharing my thoughts based on practical experience, and these are more my reflections on the subject than actual advice. You should not feel guilty in seeking the help of a professional to deal with this highly complex, but unfortunately not uncommon issue.

"A problem shared is a problem halved." - Old Idiom

Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.