- Contributed by听
- derbycsv
- People in story:听
- Robert Innes-Smith, Floris Johnson (Native Commissioner)
- Location of story:听
- Inyati, Southern Rhodesia
- Background to story:听
- Civilian
- Article ID:听
- A5526182
- Contributed on:听
- 04 September 2005
This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Odilia Roberts from the Derby Action Team on behalf of Robert Innes-Smith and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.
My parents had emigrated to Southern Rhodesia some months before the Second World War broke out. My father, a doctor, had a practice the size of Wales in area but, of course, sparsely populated. Our brand new house at a remote place called Inyati 鈥 鈥楶lace of the Buffalo鈥 - deep in the African bush, was unfinished and for a few weeks we had to stay in what was virtually a mud hut with a privy fifty yards away. We got to know the Native Commissioner of the Inyati area, a man called Floris Johnson.
It took us some days to settle in, still having to cook outside, but at least we had beds, clothes and some home comforts such as a wireless and gramophone. The Native Commissioner was a very kind man and occasionally asked us to dinner and to have baths.
It was September 3rd 1939 and the news was serious. War seemed inevitable and he asked us over to discuss the situation with him. He had his wireless on and we listened with mounting anxiety. Then he called his native servants into the drawing room. They stood bunched in a corner as we listened to Chamberlain鈥檚 fateful words. Johnson, who spoke the native language fluently, translated roughly what had been said. The 鈥榖oys鈥 stood very still, saying nothing but putting their hands over their mouths making sounds of astonishment which sounded like 鈥榟ow, how, how!鈥 They were then dismissed and the Commissioner explained that it was beyond their comprehension to take in the gravity of it all. 鈥淭hey probably think we are going to set about the Jerries with assegais and knob-kerries鈥 was his comment.
We returned to the hovel downcast about the family back home, mingled with feelings of guilt that we were not there to do our bit.
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