Time saver... enter a name or any word(s) to
search for in this page, click 'Submit' once.
[ Press ALT + S to repeat your search ]

T H E     D A Y S     T H A T     C O U N T
... by HENRY DORNING

I was born in the Cape Province, in the year 1878, being the eldest of a family of 7 boys. Many years later, when I was a grown-up man, an old native woman, on hearing that we were a family of 7 boys, exclaimed, "What, a whole week of them."

Our parents were English, mother being an Oxfordshire woman, and father being a Manchester man. Mother came out to this country in 1874, on the s.s. "Anglian". She shewed a true pioneering spirit, in coming out alone to this country at a time when few women would have felt like facing the "great unknown" of such a vast and new country, as S. Africa was then.

Her destination was in the neighbourhood of Cathcart, and she landed at Port Elizabeth, from whence the railway only extended 12 miles inland. After this she had to travel by post cart, which took 3 days in reaching the homestead where she was to live.

Father came out here in 1875, with a little capital and a great enthusiasm for farming. He had previously visited America, and returned again to England, only to be embued with a keen desire to go to S. Africa.

Unfortunately, his capital was finished before he had acquired the flair for a good beast, to enable him to replenish the exchequer. Even today a similar fate is Africa's handshake to many a would-be 'farmer'. However, although capital was lost, the flame of enthusiasm still burned brightly, and my father fought on.

My mother and father met in the Cape about year or so after father came out from England, and their marriage took place in 1877 under warlike conditions. About this time, there was another outbreak of war amongst the natives, this time between the Galekas, headed by Kreli, and Nycayeciba, chief of the Fingos.

The European Police had crossed the Kei to help restore order, but eventually the Regulars and some volunteers had to go as well. Meantime, all the European ladies, of whom my mother was one, were sent to live in the laager for safety. Father was on active service, as a volunteer, but in due course he obtained special permission to be married to mother in the laager, after which she was allowed to travel with him.

They settled round about Seymour, where I was born. By the time I was about 5 years of age, we were living at Toise River, where my father ran a small farm and store. He also kept the road toll, which was put up annually by the Divisional Council, and was used for the upkeep of the road.

In many cases the man who bought the toll lost or gained, in proportion to the amount of traffic per year. My childish recollections of the place are that it was a much frequented road, and I have since ascertained that this was so, for it was about the time of the Diamond Minefields development at Kimberly. As many of 40 or 50 wagons would be in a train.

Needless to say, this toll was often the cause of much "argufication", as it was not uncommon for folks who wanted to pass through, to try and get away with various excuses for not paying the required toll. This, at times, exasperated father beyond measure.

I remember well one such occasion, when a big European, a Dutch transport rider, started an argument in the store, whereupon father ordered him out. Relying on his bulk, he replied that he would go when it suited him.

In a flash father bounded over the counter, and a short quick scuffle ensued, in which the big man was sent headlong through the door, landing face downwards. So ended that "argue".

Father was amazingly quick on his feet and a good wrestler. In fact, he was good all round in a rough house. He always made up his mind quickly, and if not always wisely, it was certainly always effectively.

The Toise River formed the boundary, more or less, between the high veld and the low veld, the country being characterised by rolling ridges.

In those days, at the approach of the winter season, the people trekked down to the low veld with their herds, where there was plenty of grazing. During this period they lived in tents, staying down until the pasturage was again suitable on the high veld, and they could then return to their permanent homes.

I suppose our lives pursued the even tenor of their ways, until one outstanding day, when my father decided on the trek to "Nomansland", now East Griqualand. Naturally, there was much excitement, and many talks and discussions between my parents and their friends before everything was settled.

I can remember well, father saying to mother, "If we stay here, our sons will never be landowners."

He went on to explain that land up in East Griqualand was very cheap, and that we might get it at half-a-crown an acre. Indeed, he spoke most eloquently of this new land that promised to be the "Farmer's Eldorada". Perhaps it was fortunate that we did not realise all that lay before us, and yet it was well that father had the optimism and enthusiasm to venture on this new quest. After all, the British Empire owes most of its expansion to those of her sons and daughters who had the courage and vision to blaze out trails to newer lands and newer things.

Before describing our own trek, it may be of interest to turn back to the trek that gave East Griqualand its name. East Griqualand, or "Nomansland" as it was formerly called, is a long stretch of land lying at the foot of the Quathlambe Mountains, and east of the Drakensberg Mountains. It was, more or less, unknown territory until the Griqua trek in 1861, although some traditions say that it was called "Nomansland" because it was the meeting place for fights between the Basutos and the coastal tribes.

The Griquas were being oppressed by the Dutch at Philipolis in Griqualand West, and finally their leader, Adam Kok, appealed to Sr George Grey, who advised him to try for "Nomansland". Chiefly through Sir George Grey's assistance, they were allowed to go there.

The Government negotiated with the native chief Fakir, for a concession of this territory, which they in turn granted to the Griquas, who thus became British subjects.

This was a very sound policy on the part of Grey, as Moshesh of Basutoland, was a very powerful chief, and there was always the danger of his influence extending too far beyond his own domain. Thus Kok and his Griquas formed an "Iron Wall" between Moshesh and the coastal tribes and British Kaffraria.

The Griquas began their trek in 1861, and it is estimated that at least 2,000 of them left Philipolis, their train consisting of 20,000 stock, large and small, and over 300 wagons, vehicles and carts. They took an entirely unknown route over the crest of the Drakensberg, and after many hardships eventually reached East Griqualand. Adam Kok established Kokstad, named after him, and was the first and last of the Griqua chiefs in East Griqualand. There is a monument to him, near the Police Offices in Hope Street.

To revert back to our trek up, as soon as it was definitely decided that we should go, we began to make preparations. This was in 1885, when I was between 6 and 7 yrs of age. Mother's brother, Uncle Edgar, had come out to this country, and he now decided to join us. Our belongings were all packed on the wagon, and amongst them were a few bags of wheat, a few pieces of furniture, and one or two farm implements, viz: an Ames plough and a small harrow. The back part of the wagon had a half tent covering, and a cartel (Dutch bed), that is, a framework strung with leather thongs. This was swung about 3 ft. from the top of the tent, and bedding spread on it. Mother and children slept on this and the menfolk slept under the wagon. In this way we travelled nearly 400 miles.

The wagons of those days were about 20 ft. long, with a carrying capacity of 10,000 pounds, and drawn by a span of 16 oxen. We travelled at an average of two and a half miles per hour. Our stock numbered 500 to 600 sheep, 20 cows and a span of 18 oxen. We had 2 servants, "Bloom" and "Hance", as cattle and sheep drovers, and "Stoorman" as wagon driver, with "Jacob" his leader.

About half a mile from our late home, our wagon stuck in a long hill of sand, and it took us all day to get it out. Father, in his optimistic way, said, "Well, a bad start means a good ending", but I am not altogether sure that this proved the case.

All went well now, until we reached the Cathcart Pass, and here our long wagon broke, and we were compelled to off-load our good on to the side of the road, and send the wagon to Cathcart. We camped there by the wayside until the wagon returned, and then set forth again.

We had travelled in a slightly north easterly direction from Seymour, crossing the Thomas river, which brought us into the Cathcart district, at the foot of the Winvogel Mountains. Here the pasturage was exceptionally good for sheep and cattle and the water supply was good.

Misfortune again befel us, for at Tsomo, the buckbeam of the wagon broke, and once more we were held up. This, I remember, was plated with tyre iron by a wayside blacksmith, whose name, I learned afterwards, was "Mr MacIntyre". He finally came to Kokstad, where he carried on business for many years.

Once more we struggled on, only to arise one day and find that our wagon driver had absconded, so now father had to drive the wagon, which he must have done very well, for I do not ever remember it being overturned, despite the rough roads. I think this shews again that my father, though only a "rooinek" was a very capable man, as roads in those days were nothing more than beaten tracks across the veld.

I was now often sent to help drive the sheep and cattle, and a dreary job it was too. The hot, dusty roads never seemed to pass near any running water. The reply to all my queries as to the whereabouts of water was always the same ' "Just over the next rise", which usually meant that there was none for miles. Even today I can recall the feeling of bitter disappointment that resulted from this experience.

Another little event that has remained vividly in my memory occurred one day when we were in the region of the Tsomo River. Here our road passed through large native lands, and unfortunately our stock got out of control and strayed into these lands, whereupon the natives threatened to thrash us.

This was the last blow to my fainting courage, and I burst into tears. However, I took off my coat, and started "batting" the sheep, although with little effect. The batted animal would run, but the others just went on eating the native mealies. Eventually, the natives came and helped us, but I have never forgotten how they seemed to enjoy my tears, and to take a delight in "baiting" me on.

It was about this stage that we passed the Catberg, which looked to me like 2 huge rocks leaning together to form a hole. What was then known as the Catberg settlement is now Maclear. After reaching this point, things seemed to progress better with us, and we had also joined up with other trekkers, namely, Mr Tom Pringle, Mr W.W. Pringle and a Mr John Nicholson.

Here we all were - truly on the threshold of a new land, and what a land of sorrow and trouble it seemed to my childish mind, yet hope held out her brave hand of encouragement.

As we crossed the Pot River, I remember father shewing me the pot holes in its stony bed and explaining that this was the reason for it being called the Pot River. We journeyed on, crossing the Tsitsa River, where there was a blacksmith's shop and a small trading store, from whence we proceeded to Mount Fletcher, crossed the Tina River and on to Farview, Kenegha and Matatiele.

The arrival at Matatiele was quite a red letter day, and I remember our thrill of excitement when father told us that we would reach our destination within that week.

The trek across the Flats from Matatiele to Mr James Cole's farm "Bokfontein" seemed endless. We passed through Cedarville, crossing the Umzimvubu at the drift. Nearby, on the farm "Boysen's Choice" lived a man named "Dutton", who was subsequently burned in a drunken brawl by someone pouring spirit over him and setting it alight.

Boysen's Choice is now owned by my brother Fred, but at that time I do not suppose that any of us ever thought of that, but such is life.

From here we went to Strydfontein, and turned off the Kokstad road to the one going through Whistle Rock (Vleitjekraanz). When we got just below the farm "High Bank" we were delayed a day by some of the oxen getting lost. In the search for the oxen, father, incidentally, met Mr Greyling, also a recent arrival from the Cape, and in the course of conversation he said to father, "Dorning, don't go further east - the country gets worse. Stay this side of the ridge at Bokfontein".

Had father listened to this advice, it would have made a great difference to our prosperity, and in all likelihood we should not have gone through the gruesome poverty conditions that befell us later.

We trekked on in company with the Watt Pringles, who were going to the farm "Rooi Vaal", and we went with them as far as Roodiberg, the farm adjoining Rooi Vaal, and here we camped for a time. While we were here, father looked round for a farm to lease.

Mr John Nicholson, our drover Bloom and I drove the stock up the valley on to the farm Treurfontein, and on to Drei Kop, which was a short cut in those days. At that time Treurfontein was occupied by a Mr George Mann, but at his death Mr Harley bought it. Drei Keop was owned by Griquas named Bezenhouts.

It was another eventful day, when father returned and announced that he had found a wonderful farm, which had black loam even on the ridges. Alas, it turned out to be only peat. However, for the time, our fate was settled, for father had already come to terms, and hired the farm, which was called Rokeby Park and owned by a Mr Evett.

Rokeby Park was near the Ensekini Hill, on a spur of the Zwartberg, and the rent was 25 Pounds per annum.

At last, thought we, we have come to the end of our travels and reached the Eldorado of our dreams. Gladly, we packed our belongings, and took the road once more. All went well until we were just opposite Stedman's farm homestead, when our wagon sank into a vlei, and we had to offload and carry every little bit of the load across this vlei.

We travelled on to Flitwick, and were half way up the hill opposite the homestead, when our oxen could not go any further. We propped rocks behind the wheels and outspanned. Meantime, father went to see Mr John Houston on Reibokfontein, who kindly offered to lend us 10 oxen. Our own oxen were undoubtedly feeling the strain of winter and the journeying over rough country. Unfortunately, Mr Houston did not know just where his oxen were, as in those days stock could wander 20 miles or more, and no one worried until they were required again. However, he sent a boy to look for them, which took all day, and he eventually arrived with them at 3 p.m. the next day.

With the help of these oxen, we finally reached Rokeby Park, and started to offload, when yet another mishap occurred. The grass was very long, so father set a match to it, and a gust of wind came along and set it blazing furiously. Many of our things were burnt, and also sheep and cattle and some stock which ran before the fire got bogged and met their death that way.

Uncle Edgar and Bloom succeeded in getting some of the stock out of the danger zone, and poor old Sarah, Bloom's wife, got burnt in her effort to save some of our things.

Ruin and starvation now stared us in the face, for not only had we lost much of our stock, but many of our other goods were completely ruined by the fire. The grass was burnt for miles around.

Winter was with us, and the nights were bitterly cold, and there were we with a shortage of blankets and food, our only possessions being a few bags of wheat. On the top of this I remembered father's words, "A bad start often means a good end." Ever since then I have fought shy of a bad start.

Here indeed was a state of affairs enough to quench the ardour of any man, but father struggled on and finally succeeded in erecting a hut of sods, and it was no easy task, as there was no thatch grass for miles around. It had to be brought up from the Ensekini valley. Incidentally, it was expensive. When the hut was finished we all lived in it; it was divided into 2 compartments by means of an old red curtain swung across the middle.

The following spring, when the oxen that were left could work a bit, we managed to plough up a few acres of land and plant a little wheat and oats, and a few potatoes. Again we were doomed to disappointment, as owing to the poverty of the soil the wheat came into ear at about 4 inches in height, and had 2 places in each head where grains could form, but did not.

It was at this stage that father realised how hopeless our position was. We had no crops, and had almost got all the credit that we could at the Ensekini Store. Father went down to Kokstad, and on his return told us that he had got the farm "Alloekop" on shares from Messrs. James Barclay and James Davy, who were builders and contractors in Kokstad.

It was while we were on Alloekop that I herded a flock of sheep for Mr James Davy for 3 months, at 10 shillings per month. For the first time in my life, I had money, and I have never forgotten the joy of that moment. I remember how I resolved that the thing to do was to get work and get money.

From Alloekop we moved to Rooi Vaal, which we took on shares with Mr Hugh Nourse. This was poor land again, and we did not make any headway. Although I was only 11 years old, I put in some of the most strenuous years of my life here, and I also think that for a boy of my age, I had some rather unusual experiences.

My brother John herded the sheep, Jimmy the cattle, and I, by myself, had to milk 7 or 8 cows twice a day, and also plough during the day. At night I had to feed the horses, which were always stabled both in winter and summer.

How well I remember those horses. There was "Skylark", the big brown mare, a roan, my horse "Hope" and John's horse "Stella", "Fairplay" a brown gelding, and "Vetboy" a white gelding. We were given our horses when they were foals, and we caught and trained them ourselves. This was not too difficult, as the mother always being stabled at night, the foals were never too far away, and we could handle them in our spare time.

In the summer season we made up regularly about 6 or 7 pounds of extra butter for market, and more often than not it was my job to take it to market at Kokstad. I would leave home very early on the old white horse, in order to reach Kokstad, 14 miles away, in time for the produce market which opened at 9 a.m.

The box in which I carried the butter was quite a contrivance. It had a broad strap which used to go under the box from end to end, and was secured at the bottom by nails. This strap was long enough to go over my shoulder and meet the other end of the strap on the box, where it was secured by a buckle, which make it possible to adjust the length of the shoulder straps as required. Needless to say, I used to get very sore from the rub of the box, although I changed it from side to side.

The proceeds of the butter were usually spent in a few groceries, which I brought home in the box.

When there was more produce than butter for market, my brother Jimmy and I, or a native boy if we had one, would take it all in the scotch cart to Kokstad. Then we would leave home on Friday afternoon, spend the night with Mr Kumm, and proceed to Kokstad on the following morning.

It is with special gratitude to this day that I remember Mr Kumm's exceptional kindness to me on these occasions.

I remember, amongst other jobs, a bad time with some shorn sheep. Father was away, and there was only one old kraal available for these sheep, as the other one was occupied by cattle. It was a cold rainy night, and the sheep kept getting out, so in desperation I got an old blanket and drove out the sheep from the kraal into a large dongha. I sat at the lower end of it to keep the sheep in, and here I stayed until midnight, when the storm subsided and I went home. This dongha was about a mile from the house, but it was moonlight by the time that I left it, so I did not see any banshees, also I had my faithful dog "Clyde" with me.

Another common everyday occurrence was searching for lost sheep, and on one of these occasions Clyde and Floss, our dogs, bayed up a tiger cat in a hole. I could not help them, other than by shouting encouraging words to them. What a fight it was, but eventually the dogs won, and dragged out the tiger cat half dead, so I finished it off. The dogs were terribly cut about by the cat's claws.

Another sheep episode, which nearly ended in a big tragedy, occurred on a cold, sleety day in October. My brother John was away with the sheep, and when the evening came I put the horses in the stable as usual, and then suddenly I thought, "No, I'll jump on one horse, lead the other, and go and meet John".

I knew where the sheep were, so rode on and on, but could not see John anywhere. At last, I head his dog, Floss, giving a bark not 10 yards from me, and there I found John leaning against a stone, almost frozen. It was with the utmost difficulty that I got him on to the horse and back home. I do not ever remember being so frightened as I was on this occasion, for John was almost helpless.

Another incident that has remained in my mind was in connection with some oxen which I went to hurry up for some ploughing. I was riding "Stella" before she was fully trained, and cantering along a slope of a hill to head off the oxen. Stella put both of her feet into an underground water hole, and of course flung me off.

I do not know how many yards I went, but I got up and caught her and remounted her. I drove the cattle home about a mile, without realising what I was doing. I rode up to the house and asked for the reims to inspan, and Jimmy said, "Why, they are round your neck." Then I told them what had happened.

Jimmy had a wonderful escape one day. It happened thus: he and father and I were ploughing. Jimmy led the oxen, I drove and father held the plough. We had just got to the end of a furrow and about half the span had turned when a covey of partridges flew up, whereupon the oxen took fright and stampeded. They knocked Jimmy down and all ran over him. How he escaped is a mystery, but he did, and without a scratch. Undoubtedly, his lucky star shone that day.

At one time, father borrowed a wagon from Mr John Bennet, of Kruisfontein. It had broken down on a hill, and the broken wheel was at MacIntyre's smithy in Kokstad. I was sent to fetch it, and brought it back in a cart we had. Then father and I put the wheel on a sledge, with a wagon jack, and started off early. We jacked up the wagon and put on the wheel.

All went well until crossing the river on the way home. The crossing was just below where the river from the Rooi Vaal direction runs into the Umzimhlanga. We took a short cut, crossing on some flat slippery rocks, and were half way across, in fact the front oxen were just stepping on to dry land, when the hind wheel of the wagon slipped into a crevice and jammed.

The rocks were too flat and slippery for the oxen to get a firm footing, and hence they could not beging to shift the wagon. Father lost his temper both with me and the oxen, so things were not too cheery. Then the thought struck me, "Jack up the wheel". I collected 2 or 3 stones, sat down under the wagon, with all my clothes on and water running all round me. Meantime, father gave vent to his feelings in a steady flow of cursing. I got the jack under the jammed wheel, and with a few twists of the key, up went the wheel. I dropped a few stones under it, released the jack and pitched it on to the wagon. Then I ran to the front of the wagon and shouted to father to have another try. Out came the wagon and we were soon on our way home to Rooi Vaal.

In all the excitement I had dropped my boots on the opposite side where I had taken them off to cross the water, and now, in my relief at getting the wagon out, I forgot all about them. Before going to bed that night, I suddenly remembered by boots and hardly slept for worrying, for in those days boots were very precious.

Long before daylight I was on my horse, pounding to the spot where I had left them, and to my great joy, there I found them.. The next thing was to get back home before by absence was noticed, and in this I succeeded.

It was somewhere about this time that we made the acquaintance of Mr J.T. Moxham, who took the Roodeberg farm, now owned by the Golds.

Not long after this the old white horse got "Glanders", and those horses that did not die had to be shot and buried there and then.

On the adjoining farm to us, "Floakspruit", lived a Mr Clarkson, a good neighbour, but short-tempered; so was father. Now a furrow rose on Rooi Vaal, and our water supply came from it, the balance generally going on to Clarksons, and I could tell many stories about it.

Sometimes our cattle would cross the furrow where the division was, this latter being only a few sods of earth, and these would break away, which caused most of the water to come down the furrow on our side.

Up would come Clarkson and accuse us of cutting off the water, and there would ensue a fierce cursing match between him and father, both being about equal in vocabulary.

I have watched them, both with bent knees, leaning forward towards each other, and almost choking in their efforts to hurl out abuse fast enough. This relieved them, although it finally ended in father being run in for assault.

One afternoon in August a fire started right up on Mr Richardson's farm from Ingogo. A west wind came and drove the fire towards our homestead. Realising the danger, I collected our stock and shut it up in the kraals.

I think father and Mr Richardson were away, but came later, and when in sight of the house I heard Mr Richardson shout, "Henry, Henry, put a fire in by the river." There was a small river between our house and the big fire. I ran down with matches and an old bag, and had only just got the fire in and was leading it to be a back fire, when a voice aid "That's right, my boy, it is the only way to check that lot." I recognised the voice as my father's.

Within a few minutes a number of people were helping us, including the Blakeways. They all said that I had done a clever thing, but I told them Mr Richardson had shouted to me to put in a check fire by the river. This it was that saved our farm.

The fire raged for miles, and for the whole of the next day we could see volumes of smoke rising. I was told afterwards that the fire crossed the Umzimhlanga, and finished up at "Llewellyn".

Although we escaped, many farms did not, and so lost most of their grazing, thus necessitating their stock being sent elsewhere.

On November 14th, 1887, Kokstad held its first Wool Sale, which took place at Pearson's Buildings in St. John's Street. Five hundred bales were offered and were sold.

The sale was conducted by Mr T.C. Birbeck, the Local Auctioneer, and the prices ranged from four and three-quarter pennies to one shilling per pound, the latter price being obtained for Mr Archie Scott's wool.

On one occasion, when Mr Richardson sent in his wool, the wagon got stuck in the street, and the leader left his oxen to go and assist the driver, whereupon the local policeman promptly ran them in for leaving the oxen without a leader.

Owing to the bad roads, transport was one of the main difficulties, especially too, as at this time the river was still unbridged, the bridge not being completed until 1890. This and other inconveniences led to the sales being transferred to Pietermaritzburg.

In those days there was no railway from Kokstad to Pietermaritzburg, so the wool all had to be carted down by ox wagon. The Auctioneers, Messrs Shaw Bros., held the sales in Longmarket Street until 1907, when they moved to Durban, where the machinery for pressing wool, etc., was all at hand and close to the shipping.

About 1891 or 1892 my father made the acquaintance of a farmer, Arthur Field James, an Englishman. He farmed at Treurfontein, near Franklin Station, but changed the name to "Marshmead", which he got from one of Rolf Boldrewood's books on Australia.

In due course Mr James went on a trip to England for 6 months, and before he left he asked my father to allow me to look after his farm while he was away. To this father agreed, and he himself used to come over from time to time to see how I was getting on. It was also about this time that I met Mr William Moxham, who proved a good friend.

When Mr James returned, he offered me a job at one pound per month. Father was not too keen for me to accept it, but eventually I was allowed to take it. I stayed there for some years, working at anything and everything that was going on on the farm, also serving the purpose of "The boy wot was blamed for everything".

In 1893 the Matabele war broke out. The Matabele, though much mixed with other tribes, still lived, for the most part, in Zulu fashion, grouped in kraals, within 60 miles of Bulawayo. They were a potential danger to the Europeans, a scourge to their native neighbours, and the despair of the missionaries.

The occupation of the Transvaal by Europeans, and the formation of the Bechuanaland Protectorate had deprived them of two of their raiding grounds, and the arrival of the white men in Mashonaland made the "washing of spears" still more difficult.

No political boundary had been laid down between Matabeleland and Mashonaland, and although a line had been indicated a few miles to the west of Victoria, this was not a very satisfactory state of affairs, and eventually war broke out.

The fighting was soon over, the machine guns, a novelty in those days, worked wonders at Shangani and Imbembezi. The campaign ended with the coming of the rains, and the annihilation of Wilson's gallant patrol.

I remember Fritz Pringle going off to the war. He was killed in one of the fights.

It was at a later date than this that we left Rooi Vaal and took Spyfontein, which, through Uncle Edgar's help with a loan, father eventually bought. It was many years before father could replay this loan.

Troubles began again in about of horse sickness in the district, from which horses died everywhere.

In 1896/97 Rinderpest broke out. This was a kind of fever, and was very contagious, and the animal mortality was very heavy, as no one knew quite how to treat it. The disease was first known in Eastern Europe, but further investigations have identified it with the English cattle murrain of 1745, and the outbreak again in 1865/66. A First Report of the Commission to enquire into the origin of the cattle plague was published on October 31st, 1865.

This report stated that similar fatal murrains among cattle "like to the present disorder" have appeared at various times in England. The first one, in 1348/49, followed rapidly after the "Black Death" which also came from Europe, and caused very heavy mortality amongst men.

A further murrain came in 1480, but there is no accurate account of the symptoms exhibited by the cattle, so it is impossible to say if these outbreaks were the same as those of 1865/67. There is, however, sound reason to believe that the outbreaks of 1715 and 1745/47 were exactly the same.

An interesting record is found in an old parish register, in a village in Lincolnshire, which states that in 1747 700 cattle died in the village from this disease, and only about 1 in 7 recovered. "In 1758" says this record, "The disease quite ceased in this nation, for which God's Holy Name be praised".

During the 1866 outbreak, a writer of that time states that within a few months of the outbreak, the tenant farmers in Forfarshire lost 100,000 Pounds as a result of it. 50,000 beasts had already died and 15,000 threatened with it, had been killed.

The writer goes on to describe the sufferings of the poor beasts, who, used to out of doors pastures, were now confined to indoor stalls, sprinkled with chloride of lime. Tar was burnt near the animals, and even dabbed on their noses. They were also wrapped in sheets smeared with mustard, and subjected to other remedial and preventive treatment.

The disease entered our country of S. Africa through the north east coast, and raged right through it like a fierce fire, as though it would not stop, while any fuel remained. Our country being new to it, the disease spread very rapidly, and the mortality was likewise very high. At last a Dr Kock found a vaccine, which became known as "Kock's Bile Cure".

The bile was taken from the gall bladder of the liver of a Rinderpest beast, and had to have certain qualities. It was then injected into a healthy beast, and after some days the animal became infected. At a certain stage of sickness, it was killed and the gall taken by expert men, who decided if it was suitable or not.

At the outset of the disease, the authorities selected a number of men to go to Nqmaqua, where they had established a "Culture Kraal", under the direction of Dr Soga, a coloured man, and a very clever veterinary surgeon. He taught the men how to take the bile, and carry out the inoculations.

My father, Mr Berbeck and many others were amongst those chosen; after training, they were given charge of the "Culture Kraals". The first of these Kraals that I remember was on Mr P. Davey's farm Portjie, and Mr T.C. Berbeck was put in charge.

I learnt from Mr Berbeck how to take the bile and inoculation, and then I went off on my own. I went into the locations, where the cattle were dying in great numbers, and I persuaded the Natives to allow me to buy some of the cattle. I would buy a sick beast, and take the bile and if it was right, buy cattle that were not sick for 10 shillings each, or up to 15 or 30 shillings.

After 2 weeks my success was established, and many of the sick cattle I treated recovered. This was during the latter period of the Rinderpest, and it was only in remote parts that any business could be done by me.

However, I finished up by being the owner of 27 head of cattle. Some I had bought, with a few pounds I had saved, and the balance were given to me by natives, for whom I had innoculated cattle. This had been a shares arrangement whereby I was given one beast out of every surviving five.

Some of these oxen eventually formed portion of my span which I took to the Boer War. Oxen immune from Rinderpest became valuable, and trek oxen fetched high prices - from 10-18 Pounds each.

The effects of the disease were felt in many ways, and were one of the contributing factors to the Matabele Mashona Rebellion. In any case the Mashonas and Matabeles resented the influx of the white man, and this resentment was stronger in Matabeleland, because, owing to the gold reef on their lands, they had been deprived of the heavy loams they favoured, and which their forbears had had in Zululand. They were far from pleased when, in compensation, they were given 2 large but little known reserves, with in one case, poor soil, and in the other, an inadequate water supply. A further contention was the unsatisfactory way in which the promised redistribution of cattle had been carried out, after the trouble in 1893.

When Rinderpest came, they blamed it on to the white man, and when the officials ordered the slaughter of beasts to check the plague, the tribesmen became more infuriated than ever. Their prophets lost no time in impressing on them that the shedding of the white man's blood alone would end the plague - so the Matabele rose up and slew.

Naturally, transport for any purpose was a tremendous problem, and farmers found it well nigh impossible to get their produce transported to markets on the coast. Some of the traders, who were conveniently situated and had the enterprise to follow it up, contracted to take the loaded wagons across the quarantined areas to points of export. The loads were mostly wool or maize. After the quarantine period was past, there was a period of prosperity.

It is estimated that before the outbreak, the number of cattle in the Cape Colony was 1,639,455 and by the middle of 1898 it was reduced to 1,063,571 - that is a loss of 575,864. The money spent on Rinderpest during that period in the Cape Colony is estimated at 1,144,000 Pounds.

The next historic event was the Griqua Rebellion, which occurred in 1896/97, and which was headed by Andries Le Fleur. This man revived an old agitation in connection with the "Forty Years Money". This money was a yearly sum paid out by the Government to certain Griquas, in compensation for farms originally held by them in the Orange Free State.

Le Fleur went about amongst the people, telling them that they were being cheated out of their full rights, and that he was the one man who could help them. Eventually he persuaded them to provide him with some funds, and soon after this he engineered a rebellion.

His first effort in 1896 was unsuccessful, but he got away into the country, and managed to make things very unpleasant for the farming community. Eventually, laagers were established at suitable farms, namely at Elton Grange, Ettrick, Lourdes, Kilrush and others, which I have forgotten.

The districts were then patrolled by the East Griqualand Mounted Rifles, the Cape Mounted Rifles under Col. Stanford, and Mr Nourse, also bands of farmers.

At this time, Uncle Edgar A'Bear was in charge of Sneezewood hotel and store, which in those days was a busy centre. The post carts to and from Natal always stopped there for a change of horses, and the passengers could always get a meal. There was also a post office, which distributed mails for Kilrush, Glengarry, Lourdes and a number of other private bags. The store trade was good, and apart from this, there was quite an industry in Sneezewood fencing poles. These were split up in their thousands, and distributed to the required districts.

There were several Europeans, other than Uncle Edgar, but with the exception of him they all went into the laager at Lourdes, the big Catholic Mission Station, for here too there was trouble. Some of the natives in Pati's Location had risen up in sympathy with Le Fleur.

One day when Col. Stanford's patrol arrived at Sneezewood for rations, when things were not looking too good, the Colonel greatly complimented Mr A'Bear for sticking to his job all alone there.

A few days later James Cole, the owner of the hotel and store, arrived with 6 armed natives from Riverside, to see how A'Bear was faring. He found him busy at work, so after a short off saddle old Jim saddled up again and departed. His only comment to A'Bear was "Well done, just carry on," and not a word about the risks A'Bear was running.

On yet another occasion a hundred CMR called in at Sneezewood for rations, and things were a bit lively, particularly as a little previous to this, a party of farmers, also on patrol, had called in on a likewise need.

However, both parties left with their needs well supplied, even though some of the rations were cut up still quivering.

In the meantime, Le Fleur was busy with his various seditious meetings, and one of his chief meeting places was at Drekop - Bezuidenhout's farm. It was from this farm that a plan was made to attack Mr Kyd's farm "The Willows".

On the fated night, Mr Brown and I were at Kyd's farm, the latter having got word that Le Fleur was at Bezuidenhout's farm. Mr Kyd at once sent to the Magistrate at Kokstad to tell him the news and ask for protection, but meantime events moved quickly.

The attack had been cunningly planned. Evidently Le Fleur had found out that Mr Kyd had sent a messenger to Kokstad, and had waylaid him.

At the moment that Mr Kyd was explaining the position to us, there was a knock at the door and a voice said in Griqua, "A note from the Magistrate, Baas". Kyd opened the door, and advanced a pace or two, to a native who held out a note. As Mr Kyd put out his hand to take it, the boy stepped back a little, whereupon about 8 or 10 men dashed out of the darkness and attacked Mr Kyd.

Kyd tried to grapple with his assailants, but had no chance - it all happened too suddenly. Before we could do anything, Kyd received a blow on the head, and a bad wound in the back.

Brown and I had rushed to his aid, and I being just behind him, managed to pull him into the house, but in the process I got an assegai wound in the arm, although I did not realise it at the time.

Meantime Brown was helping, and fired a shot at the attackers, who then gave way. Brown promptly blew out the lamp, which was providential, as 2 or the attackers had run through the door before I could close it.

All of us being in the dark, and we knowing the house, the advantage was with us, and the attackers just dashed through and out at the back door.

At the same time as Brown had fired his shot, we had heard another shot, which had sounded from the back of the house. Subsequently, we found that this shot had been fired by Whylie, to help us. He was a coloured boy and a servant of Mr Kyd's and the latter had entrusted him with a gun. These 2 shots undoubtedly drove off the attackers, and saved the situation.

The CMR arrived next morning and followed up the attackers, most of whom were captured and tried for attacking Kyd.

Kyd took civil action against Bezuidenhout and was, I believe, awarded 350 Pounds. I remember quite a number of cattle being sold at Bezuidenhouts, in order to pay this money.

This rebellion took place in 1897. Fortunately, Le Fleur was soon captured, with about 75 of his followers. He was sentenced to 14 yrs, and many of his followers also received sentences.

Le Fleur was released at the end of 10 years, and returned to the district. He then managed to persuade many of his sympathisers to sell their land, and follow him to the Cape, where he had got a concession to buy land near the Toe River.

It was also about this time that the last wool sale was held in Kokstad. After this all the wool had to go down to the Pietermaritzburg market, often under very trying conditions, but I was not alone in that.

Meanwhile, the fortunes of the Dornings were still in the making, for at this time all we possessed, both father and sons, could have been bought up for about 600 Pounds. However, we were working forward steadily.

As I have previously mentioned, I worked at one time for Mr James, and after several years there I had acquired a few animals, also a wagon and a span of oxen, of which I was very proud.

With the passing of the years, the drink habit had taken such a hold on Mr James that he could no longer carry on his farming operations, so he sold up everything, and also put the farm up for lease.

I was still a minor, and also not in a position to hire the farm, but Mr Drew came to the rescue and hired it. He and I then went into partnership, the lease being in his name. Thus we started as a firm of more or less moneyless farmers, "Drew & Dorning".

The question then arose of buying a farm plough, and Drew who was rather more enterprising than I, suggested a 3 furrow "Flying Dutchman", which in those days was sold by Malcomess & Co. of East London, and cost much more than we could really afford. After carefully weighing up the pros and cons, I finally agreed that we should buy it, which induced us to plough more and quicker. To this day I have some of these ploughs in use.

Then came the blow to our firm. Mr Drew's stepfather, whose business was in Rhodesia, wired for him to go there. This meant, of course, that I had to take over all the liabilities of Drew & Dorning, which was no easy task

Mr R.A. Richardson, who has been a very true friend to me, came to my aid, and as Mr Drew took a 4 months P.N. I was enabled to carry on.

As time went on, I managed to collect funds, and these I would take to Mr Richardson. Sometimes I would take as much as 50 Pounds in cash, tied up in a piece of rag. This would then release some bill or other. Thus I worked on, until the outbreak of the Boer War in 1899.

In October of that year, I took loads of wool down to Maritzburg, and deposited them at Messrs Shaw Bros. of Longmarket Street. I was in charge of 5 wagons and my own, and after off-loading the wool, the wagons were entered into the Imperial Service at 2 Pounds per day per team of 16 oxen and wagon complete with driver and voorloper. We had to pay out of this the driver 4 Pounds per month, and the leader 2 Pounds, but the Government found us in everything in the rations.

While I was away, Mr Richardson very kindly managed my finance for me.

We started off from Maritzburg one afternoon, and got to Frere 2 days later, where there was a large British camp. When we got there, we saw where the Boers had wrecked an armoured train just beyond the station.

From here the British made the attack on Colenso, and suffered a bad reverse. The railway had formed the central line of Buller's advance on December 15th, which was the first attack. In this encounter Col. Long lost some guns, and young Roberts, son of Lord Roberts, called for volunteers to go and recover them. Unfortunately, the attempt ended in failure, and they were driven back by the Boer mauser guns, which over-ranged ours. Young Roberts was killed. This put us all into very low spirits, but soon after this, Buller had parades, and told us not be down-hearted, as things would soon be right. It was wonderful what faith the troops had in his leadership.

Our next move was Vaal Krantz. We moved off in a north westerly direction from Frere, crossing the little Tugela River, at a spot where Winterton Station is now. From there we moved up towards Bergville opposite Spion Kop, then for some unknown reason we were ordered back.

When this order for retirement was made, we were ordered to fetch back supplies that had been over carried, and our only hope of doing this was at night.

It was a night of intermittent moonlight and filmy grey skies. We had a few shells fired at us by the Boers' some fell short and others right over us, but we succeeded in getting back all our loads without any casualties.

This meant that the British had failed again. After this we went back to a base camp.

The next move was made on the other flank towards Umbulwana and Pieter's Hill. It was on this hill that the Boers had their big gun known as "Long Tom", and which greatly worried Ladysmith. I believe this gun was eventually silenced in a night attack from Ladysmith during March, 1900, before the relief of that town.

The relief of Ladysmith was a great jubilation for every Britisher. The difference between Sir George White's men and those of Buller's was very marked. Sir George's men were all clean, but thin and starved, whereas Buller's were fat, dirty and dusty - the result of days of marching and fighting.

We then went right through Ladysmith to the Sundays River, near Elands Laagte coal mines. At this time, I had been ill with dysentery, and then got Enteric Fever, so was told to go home for a while, and this I was very pleased to do, as I had got homesick.

After being home some time, we received word that most of our oxen were played out, so our wagons were railed to Ladysmith, where I went and received them. I then railed them to Richmond, where we fetched them with fresh teams of oxen.

At this stage, the Boer War had developed into a fight and run business all over the Free State and Transvaal, and even East Griqualand was being invaded by raiding Boers on the Maclear border.

As a result of this, natives were enrolled under European officers to guard the border, and they were called the "Matatiele Native Contingent". They were under the charge of Col. W.P. Leary, who was the Resident Magistrate in Mount Frere.

I joined this contingent. Our badge was MNC and we were known as "Mother's Naughty Children". There was also a European Contingent, officered by Mr Hugh Nourse, and they were better known as "Nourse's Lambs". They were "some lambs". In June 1902, all this came to an end, when the Peace Treaty was signed at Vereeniging.

There were some who refused to sign, and amongst them was the Reitz family. Reitz had, at one time, been a President of the Orange Free State, and later Secretary of State to Paul Kruger. Those who had refused to sign were given notice to leave the country within a certain time limit.

The next great event was the repatriation of the Boers, and others, who had suffered war losses. This proved to be a very expensive and complicated business. Lord Milner did his best - a best which was more advantageous to the Boers than to the British. Even, so, there were still complaints, and the settlement was not an unqualified success.

To add to the trouble, it was winter time, and grazing was scarce, which made it particulary hard on the transport cattle, and their mortality was high.

There were, of course, still troops in the country, and it was sometimes a case of crowded troop trains blocking trains crowded with people returning to their old abodes, or going to new ones. However, things gradually settled down into better working order.

There was a big demand for stock for repatriation purposes, and consequently prices were very good, and many people took advantage of this opportunity to make money.

East Griqualand supplied quite a large number of cattle, and I remember 2 toothed ewes fetching 26 shillings.

In 1893 land was worth anything from 3 Shillings and 6 pence to 7 Shillings and 6 pence per acre, but after the Boer War it went up in value to 20 and 30 Shillings in East Griqualand, according to the locality.

The money that I had received from the transport work during the war helped me to pay for the portion of the farm Bokfontein, of which I had bought 1200 acres. In due course, I sold this to Mr J. Cole Jnr. at 24 Shillings and I bought Badfontein from him at 17 Shillings and 6 pence.

In June, 1902, East Griqualand experienced a very severe blizzard, which caused great losses in stock. For 3 days the wind, snow and rain raged with unceasing fury, forming terrific snow drifts. In one of these drifts 1,000 sheep were completely buried, and in other places, there were oxen buried in the snow standing up. All fences were completely buried, and people walked over them unknowingly, so deep was the snow.

Meantime I had started on my farm Badfontein, which was quite undeveloped when I bought it, and only had one fence.

From now on life and work held a bigger joy and inspiration for not only was I developing my own farm, but making a home for my wife, then Miss Elizabeth Brown, and myself.

In 1904 I had completed a little homestead, comprising 3 rondavels and a small tin kitchen, so Lizzie and I then decided to get married. Our banns were duly published and we were married on the 12th July, 1904.

The Minister, who lived at Kokstad, was the Rev. Evans, a very delicate man, who had come from overseas chiefly for health reasons. He possessed, however, a personality and power that always gave him a full church for his services.

It had been arranged that he should come out to Broban, my fiancee's home, for the marriage. On the morning of our wedding day I and my brother Fred rode over from Badfontein to Broban.

On the way we passed Mr Kyd's store at Deepfontein, and stopped to have a few words with him. He was very perturbed lest the minister should not be well enough to come out, and said to me, "Well lad, if the parson has not come, put your lass on the other horse and go straight to Kokstad, and get married today. Don't put it off."

However, when we arrived at Broban we found the minister there all in readiness, having arrived the previous evening.

In a short time my brothers John and Ted arrived, and the ceremony took place, after which we all sat down to dinner.

My wife's mother excelled at cooking, and I can still remember the beautifully cooked turkey, which we all greatly enjoyed.

There were the usual little wedding speeches, but I remember my brother-in-law, George Brown, saying in reference to signing the marriage register, "Well Henry, that Promissory Note won't come due."

When the time came for my wife and I to depart, everyone came to saddle our horses, and do everything except tie tins on to the horses' tails.

Many times had Lizzie and I ridden together, and each knew the other's paces, but this ride will always be the red letter one, for now we set out with hearts full of happiness and high hopes, and the thrill of going to our own home. On the way we passed again by Mr Kyd's store, and there was the old man waiting to give us his blessing. Then in his own characteristic fashion, he added, "That's the way to do it, Henry, none of your carriages, but just your horses and home, lad."

We lived in the rondavel homestead for 3 years, but at the end of the first year we selected the site on which our present house stands. We fenced in this site and ploughed up a piece of land for the orchard, and in due time planted the trees.

One day, about the end of our second year, a tramp arrived and asked for work. He was a stone cutter, and so I told him that we wanted a house built, but the problem was material, as the soil was too sandy for bricks, and I did not think the stone looked too good.

He said that he was tired of tramping, and wanted work, and was quite prepared to go and look at what stone there might be, and would come up to the house that night, and report on it.

I gave him a hammer and a stone Punch, and off he went. That night, in reply to my query, he said that there was enough good stone to build a wall from there to Kokstad.

This settled the problem, and we came to an agreement whereby he should cut the stone, and build all the walls for 100 Pounds. For my part, I supplied him with 2 natives as assistants, and carted the stone from the quarry to the site.

This work took us 10 months to complete, for all the farming had to be carried on as urual. Needless to say, there was little time for sitting down. At the end of the 3rd year the house was sufficiently completed for us to move into it, and to go on working on it.

My wife too had no easy task, housekeeping under such conditions, and special praise is due to her for the way in which she always managed to cook for us, and give us good meals, with the limited means at her disposal.

One of the biggest difficulties was fuel, which was very hard to obtain until we shelled the first crop of mealies, and so got the cobs. These we packed and covered with cow dung to keep them dry.

Fortunately, the crop was very good for those days, being 500 bags.

Eventually, we were settled in our new home, and things were down more or less to normal, although there was always plenty of work to keep us busy, and new farming developments progressing here and there.

Often we would discuss the time when we hoped to take our much belated honeymoon, and I said, "We will be able to take it in about 10 years' time, and strangely enough, it did come round about that time.

In 1910, I think it was, there was an outbreak of East Coast Fever in East Griqualand, which was a great setback to the farming community, or rather to the cattle farmers in particular, as it only affects bovines.

It is not a curable disease, and unless promptly checked it spreads rapidly.

The disease is conveyed to the cattle by ticks, and when one takes into consideration the fact that there are no less than 5 varieties of carrier ticks, it is obvious why such drastic measures must be taken to fight them.

Unfortunately these ticks can remain alive without food for a period of 14 or 15 months, so quarantine is a very lengthy business.

Some farms were in quarantine for nearly 2 years, and this meant that no cattle could be sold or moved off those farms, nor could any other cattle go on to them, until 15 months after the last located case.

The only safeguard and means of fighting this fever is by dipping. The short interval or 3 day dip, made necessary because the tick only remains on the cattle for that period and then falls off, was first tried in Natal.

It is estimated that in the first outbreak of this fever in 1903, 15,770 cattle died, but that in the last outbreak of 1918 only 374 died, thus proving the value of dipping.

The introduction of dipping was due to Mr Jos. Baynes of Nels Rust, Natal. He and his manger built the first tank in 1901. The manager was Mr C. D. Alexander.

The next step was the "3 day dip", and was due to Col. Watkins Pitchford.

The years went on, and farming had its "ups" and "downs" as is inevitable, but I think I can say that the balance weighed in favour of the "ups", and the opening of 1914 saw us in a position to take our longed for, dreamed of holiday.

In 1902 my wife and her sister had paid a visit to Scotland, and so much had she told me about it, that my interest created in me a strong desire to go and see Great Britain too, so in February of 1914 we set off on our travels.

We sailed from Durban in the s.s. Inkosi, a Rennie boat of about 6000 tons, which carried first and second class passengers only.

I think there were 6 first class passengers, and 11 second, so we had plenty of room.

The voyage was uneventful, barring one or two minor incidents, and we enjoyed the trip.

One day we sighted a be-calmed sailing vessel. She was quite a big boat, and made a very beautiful picture, as all her sails were set.

The whales or porpoises spouting and jumping round about the regions of the equator, were also a source of interest and amusement to us.

We struck the tail end of a storm as we reached the Bay of Biscay, and eventually came to the Straits of Dover, where we did have a little excitement. A steward, going below with a lighted candle to take stock, set some oil on fire.

Due to the prompt action of one of the passengers, who quickly got some water from the bathroom, the fire was speedily extinguished.

Another of the passengers, a Mr Spiller, drew a picture of a burning ship with volumes of smoke coming out of her hull, and most of the passengers signed their names to it, as a memento of the voyage.

The Spillers disembarked at Tilbury, and at a later period Mr Spiller opened a Jeweller's shop in Kokstad, where he carried on business for many years, until ill health compelled him to retire.

We disembarked at East India Docks, and from thence went to Euston Station, where we caught the Scotch express to Glasgow.

It was indeed a beautiful journey through "England's green and pleasant land". Perhaps what most appealed to me was its garden-like picture, the green fields and lands mostly bounded by hedges, the beauty of the trees, and above all, the lovely greenness of it all.

In contrast to the countryside were the industrial areas; all the erections and labours of man; then once more the country. As we drew nearer to the north and Scotland, the scenery became more mountainous, and rugged, but beautiful.

What a variety of country laid out, as it were, in a small space, in comparison with the vastness of South Africa's mountains and veld.

We stopped at Crewe for a few minutes, and never before or since have I seen so many railway lines meet. To me there seemed to be acres and acres of them.

We arrived in Glasgow in the early evening, and from there we took the train to Dollar, our destination

During the journey, we had zealously carted round 2 Madeira chairs, and equally zealously every cabman and railway man had said, "Oh Sir, furniture is extra". It was. What a wave of relief swept over me when I heard the porter shout "Dollar". At last we and "our extra" had reached our destination.

My wife's sister lived at Dollar, and at the end of our visit we left the chairs with her.

Our next visit was to Edinburgh, a grand city, which much impressed me, with its world renowned "Princess Street", fine old castle and historic relics. We saw John Knox's house, also the Debtor's Sanctuary Ring, a large iron ring in the wall, on which it is alleged that if a debtor placed his hand, his debt was pardoned.

From Edinburgh we went to Laurence Kirk, the home of Mr Noir's parents, who very kindly took us for a trip up the River Esk, amidst glorious scenery.

At the conclusion of our visit to Scotland, we travelled down to Oxford, where we stayed with Uncle Dan A’Bear, my mother's brother.

We were much interested in the beautiful Colleges and their old world architecture, and we shall not easily forget the characteristic High Street, winding from the bridge at Magdalen round beyond Queen's to the old coaching inn, "The Mitre".

We journeyed out to the little village of Woodstock on the Blenheim Estate, and which was the scene of Sir Walter Scott's novel of that name. We saw the famous Rosalind's Well, the beautiful lake and the famous tree.

Uncle Dan took me to Gloucester Green Fair, and great was my surprise and disgust when I found that the whole place had concrete floors, and not green as I had expected.

Our next visit was to Birmingham to my Aunt Conolly, my father's sister, and a most lovable old lady.

We went to West Bromwich Fair, which I found exceedingly interesting.

We also went to Coventry to the Sidley Armstrong Motor works, and saw motor cars in all stages of construction.

Our time was now getting short, so we left Birmingham for London, where we spent a few days, and from there we went to Worthing to visit a cousin of my father's.

Her house was called "The Old House", and was of quaint architectural design, being noted for its wood carvings. Even the architraves of the inside doors were thus embellished, and there was also some fine panelling.

Now came the time to bid farewell to England, and we sailed from Southampton on the "Balmoral Castle". At Port Elizabeth Janet A'Bear joined us and came home to Badfontein with us.

We arrived at Franklin late in the evening, where 2 carts and horses met us, and on which we managed to stow all our belongings.

Back home again, we settled down to our farm life once more, but alas, the clouds of war were gathering up to burst in storm in August 1914. With the outbreak of war came many changes, and as is only to be expected, much of the old order of things passed away, never to return again. In their place came newer things and newer ideas, all to be tested and proved in the course of time.

HENRY DORNING and ELIZABETH BROWN