As I explained in the previous post I had been putting off reading Bob’s memoirs for quite some time fearing they would be the grim ramblings of an old tankie. Thankfully, he turned out to be very good company and an early indication of this occurred when he recounted his experiences in South Africa. Shortly after he married his wife Margaret in 1902 he was looking for work and finding very little. He heard of opportunities out in Pretoria and Cape Town and set out for a new life. His first night in Pretoria marked his experience of the whole country.
“I was out with my two pals, Henderson, the fellow who had sent me my fare, and another called Scott, who had also came from Dundee. We were walking along the street when we came to a junction and met some Africans coming up the other street. They were big fellows and going on quietly, minding their own business. Suddenly, Henderson, who was a quite a small fellow, about five feet three inches tall, lashed out with his boot at these Africans and kicked one to the ground. I reacted by taking a swing at him and clouting him on the jaw, then demanded to know why he wanted to kick a man like that. He gazed at me in amazement…I got a lecture on how the black man must be kept in his place and all the blah blah that we are so familiar with at the present time. But the lecture had no effect on me. I could not understand the line of reasoning…”
The racism in South Africa disgusted Bob as he explains, “I very soon discovered that the colour bar in South Africa was not only an idea in some people’s minds. It was a way of life.” Segregation- even down to separate black and white temperance lodges- he regarded with horror. The ‘present time’ he talks about was the late sixties where growing opposition to apartheid, the Civil Rights movement in America and the debates around race relations in Britain were increasingly taking centre stage. Bob’s reaction to his former friend’s behaviour was instinctive and right. He deserved that clout. I admire that Bob’s beliefs were somewhat ahead of their time and consistently held throughout his life. Remember, this took place in the first decade of the twentieth century. In the year after Bob wrote these words Enoch Powell made his ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech and, as dangerous and damaging to the country as it was, I’m heartened that an ailing man in his nineties would still have regarded the ideas behind it as so much ‘blah, blah.’
Sad to say, as I type these words the day after England’s defeat in the Euros, after witnessing some of the racism of some ‘fans’ on the streets and online, there is still a very long way to go.
Breaking the Fetters 