Sad Month to Date, Searching for Funds and Finally Opportunity.

I meant to put this up last week, with our farmhouse we lost in Zimbabwe. This was the house I was brought up on Killiechronan, Mull. When my dad remarried, I visited only during school holidays, so, in a way, I lost it as my everyday home.

I mentioned in my earlier blogs, from 1972, when I arrived in Rhodesia while working for Hamish Smith, located on Umzururu in Nyabira, that I became friendly with the students at Gwebi Agricultural College. In fact, much of my social life, or rather drinking, was with them. A couple, including Tony Middleton from Zambia, and a Swedish guy whose name I cannot remember, leased a house from our neighbour Andrew Lang, so when I moved to Wild Duck Farm next door to them when the Smiths bought it from the DuToits, they would arrive on my doorstep virtually every Sunday evening to share my soup and, most importantly to them, my beer. I reconnected with Tony when I moved to Zambia. I have kept in touch with some of them, most consistently with Dave Bradshaw in Zambia and Roger Manley in New Zealand. Sadly, Roger informed me earlier this month that three of these old Gwebi friends had passed away in one week: Tony Gaskell, Jeff Somner and Pete Meiring. In one week!

The late Jeff Somner, a proud Matabele cattleman

I could not believe it. Perhaps I should take it as an indication that we have all reached the stage in life where there is no longer a guarantee of a tomorrow. I have fond memories of all of them, but after they left Gwebi, I kept in closer touch with Tony and Jeff than with Pete, who left for South Africa after marrying Joe Whaley’s cousin, Sue Condy, who remains a close friend of my ex-wife, in the UK at present. How our lives were interwoven in Zimbabwe. Tony farmed in Middle Save and was on the plane that crashed after a cotton meeting at Middle Save in the Lowveld when I was Vice President of the Commercial Farmers Union (CFU). While some on that fateful flight lost their lives, Tony suffered severe brain damage and, unfortunately, was never the same man again, unable to work and spending much of his remaining life under long-term care in Cape Town. Jeff was probably the first of this particular trio I met. I remember the day, or rather the night, clearly. There was a party at Andrew Lang’s farm, Sunnyside, opposite Lord Graham’s farm next to Nyabira. Andrew was a lawyer and lecturer at the University of Rhodesia as well as a learner farmer, wise enough to employ experienced management. I remember one day stopping on the road and asking him why he was driving a tractor to mow grass, rather than being a driver who had a much lower salary scale, and that his job was management. His answer was this: "This is the thing that I like to do, let the manager run the farm.” At a later date, watching him try to plough made me think he should have stuck to management. I have taken you astray; let's get back to the party. Anyway, I went to the party with my future wife, and as the night went on, I accused Jeff of paying too much attention to my date. Of course, this was probably not true, but in my drunken state and by that time spending much time in the army, I decided to punch him, in the form of a roundhouse, which luckily never landed, but in the process, I lost my balance and found myself at the feet of my adversary without him lifting a finger. We remained friends after that. Once we made up, he was very forgiving, and over the years, we spent much time together at agricultural shows and cattle sales. Jeff was a cattleman through and through, and although he diversified into other businesses such as crocodile farming, his skillset and reputation were built around being a rancher and a pedigree Braham breeder. I had not seen Jeff for many years, but Henry, his brother, who is now breeding cattle in Australia, along with his son, visited me last year, much to our delight. So that was three old friends gone, when on Facebook I saw a funeral notice of another long standing friend, Auguste ‘Duke’ du Coudray. I first met Duke in the army when we were in E Company, 1 Rhodesia Regiment, at Ngundi Halt, where we were deployed following an ambush of the convoy between Harare and South Africa. In that particular ambush, a mother and daughter were killed, hence our deployment there to try and engage the perpetrators, which unfortunately, we never did. Duke was on that particular operation, and although we only lived about fifty kilometres apart, this was the first time we met. Duke was to eventually set up a very successful farm supply company in Banket, which served a huge farming community well beyond the confines of that area. In his success, he did not forget his community, and many farmers got his inputs through the trust given in them by Duke.

The late 'Duke' Du Coudray

He was a larger-than-life character whose family were from Mauritius. He was a strong supporter of the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC), and because of that, he was driven out of his business. Much respect was shown for him at his memorial service, with a full hall in attendance. I watched online and enjoyed an old friend, Dave Johnson, saying a few words.. Duke will be sadly missed by his loving family and many people, especially in the farming community, a legend in his own lifetime.

“Every time you hear of a friend or old acquaintance pass, it seems to take something away from the richness of your own life.” - Peter McSporran

Returning to Zimbabwe and Zambia in 2001, we now had many more invaders permanently on the farm. Despite this, as the farm at that stage had not been officially designated, if you can call it that, confiscated, we continued to farm under challenging circumstances. The local leader of the ‘War Vets’ moved into my assistant farm manager, Abel's, house on Mede, sharing his roof and food. At the same time, he happily went around leading assaults and intimidation in the area. When back on the farm, I would spend hours trying to dissuade him of his violence, and when I was not there, my managers and labour took the brunt of it, all staying put bravely despite the fear they felt.

Braham x Hereford heifers meant for breeding in front of my house in 2001, but with the farm invasions sent to the abattoir

By this time, I was more off the farm than on it, busy trying to create a scheme to move farmers to Zambia. It was incredibly depressing at first, as I mentioned in last week's blog. Two incidents really stuck in my mind. One was the visit to the USAID compound, where I was astounded to see so many Toyota Land Cruisers. Astounded in three ways, the sheer number of what looked like brand new vehicles of Japanese origin, not even American. I had learned over the years that when the USA provided aid in any form, it would be from America. For instance, maize from the USA for the World Food Program would come from the States and had to be transported by US ships by law, no doubt at a significant cost. So here we were; their own workers used Japanese cars, presumably because Toyota was more reliable than Ford or Dodge, who knows. The Americans explained to me that under their protocols, they could not fund the private sector, but about ten years ago, that had changed, and they did set up a fund that would lend to private businesses in the developing world, known as the Development Finance Corporation (DFC). For a while, my good friend and former work colleague, Yasser Toor, headed the food (agricultural) division.

A common occurrence on my travels up and down the escarpment to Zambia

The following incident, I have never really got over. For many years, especially from the time I was the president of the CFU I had learned to distrust the British even more than from the time they ensured Mugabe would take over the reins of power in our beautiful, prosperous country at Independence to the expense of the livelihoods of their own once colonists. Many who had been, or whose forefathers had, moved to Rhodesia at the request or under coercion from the British Government. I, like many, had given up my British citizenship, as we were not allowed to hold dual citizenship if I were a Zimbabwean citizen, nor they said, if you retained your British passport as a foreigner, you would not be allowed to own land. So, in 2001, John Knight made an appointment with the British High Commissioner in Lusaka, Tom Young, and, on entering his office, the very first thing he said before even saying hello was, “I do not know why I am talking to you, you are not even British.”  So there it was, obviously the British had little sympathy for the white farmers in Zimbabwe, many sons of ex-servicemen from both World Wars, and me, being born in Britain. It also told me they knew all about us, and one of the people I recognised as having met a couple of times before to discuss the Zimbabwean situation, probably a spook, who privately told me he sympathises with us, but the orders were from above; at that time Blair was the Prime Minister of the UK. At that meeting, it was made clear to us that the British would not be helping us in any form, a rationale I never learned nor wanted to learn following that meeting. John, not owning land, had retained his British citizenship and was equally dumbfounded. People often wonder why I am so anti-Labour; this is probably my strongest reason. Young died, I believe by suicide in London some four years later, although the internet gives no detail, just tragic circumstances. Plenty of rumours around that.

However, there was an English credit manager named Johnson, sadly, I cannot remember his first name, at Barclays, who, probably under pressure from the Vice President of Zambia, Enoch Kavindele and the general manager of Barclays Zambia, Margaret Mwanakatwe, said they would lend us working capital if we could find lenders for capital. 

In our rounds around Zambia, it was suggested to Graham Rae and me by Carl Irwin that we lease the ZRC ranch in Chisamba beyond the airport, which we agreed to with Vernon Nicolle as a partner. It sounded good at the time, but it certainly brought its hardships a few years later. We formed a company called Soilmasters and began planning to import equipment to cultivate a crop of seed maize and soya. So many hats, farms at home, fund searching for a scheme to move farmers, and now starting up a farming enterprise without cash and equipment. Driving thousands of miles across borders. No time to ponder events in Zimbabwe, just work, work, work.

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