I inherited not only my father's name but also his love of hills and the lonely places. In my younger days after official work was over whilst on patrol, I used to climb, and at weekends, I used to go out on my motor cycle and climb. I used to love the exercise and the view from the summit, and the clean fresh breeze that always blew on peaks. It was satisfying to add hills to my list, and it was wonderful to stand on top of one hill and slowly look around 360° and identify the hills that had already been climbed and those still to climb. I never went in for the type of mountaineering which required specialized equipment and ropes. I wish I had, but it's too late to start now. The granite hills were my favourite and still are. There is something special about them, something reminiscent of great and enduring age. They bubbled out of the earth's crust all those hundreds of millions of years ago, and some remained the same basic shape, defying erosion and the gentle takeover by the plant world, yielding only to lichen and the odd patch of resurrection plant and tough hummocks of grass. Others of a less noble breed, were unable to resist the cracking and heaving and erosion to which they were subject over the centuries, and in their crevasses and valleys the plants and the trees infiltrated, making a haven for the birds and animals so suited to that type of existence.
The Bushmen were drawn towards the shelter of that environment and found every crack, hollow, overhang or great bubble-like cave in which to make their homes and create their art galleries.
I was the first to record at least three beautiful caves with unique paintings - a small shelter in the Chibi district with what I believe is the only painting of guinea fowl that has been found, an average type of bubble cave in the north of the Matopo Communal area containing a very handsome white leopard painting and a huge and wonderful cave in the Gwaranyemba Communal area, Ntsweru Cave, to be known later as the "cave of the hands" because the primeval artists had apparently dipped their small hands in their paint medium and applied them to the cave walls all over the place. Interspersed between the hands were stylistic palm trees which looked like fountains.
I also visited the known caves whenever I had the opportunity. One of the best known caves in the Behza area of the Matopo Communal area had, to my utter horror, written in charcoal amongst the paintings - "Grade 3 of .......... school visited here". The school concerned was at the base of the great granite hill in which the cave was situated so I paid a visit to the headmaster and bottling up my indignation, asked him tactfully why those words had been written there. He was genuinely totally unaware that the action of Grade 3 had been one of vandalism, and was rather proud that the children had been able to make the climb and record their visit. I then called the whole staff and pupils together and explained the priceless and irreplaceable historical nature of the paintings and how their innocent art had destroyed the atmosphere of the place. They appeared to understand. Natural forces are slowly eroding and fading the paintings and man must not contribute by damaging them.
Other caves were formed at the base of hills where giant boulders had settled leaving gaps between them extending so far in some cases that all natural light was excluded and one had to explore by torch light, with a string attached to one's belt to ensure safe return. Such a series of caves exists at the base of Chirogwe hill in the Chibi district. Even more fascinating is this type of cave linked with underground running streams, as occurs on Harleigh Farm, Rusape. These are the home of bats, which do not make exploring very pleasant. One cave that I did not explore was just a sink hole, in limestone country, in the Urungwe district. The smell of bats was overpowering, the descent was perpendicular and it was simply a dark, noisome and dangerous well. I would have needed ropes and a gas mask to explore it, and never got the opportunity. Who knows, perhaps it leads to a wonderland of stalagmites and stalagtites just waiting for study and exploitation as a tourist attraction.
Throughout the hill country are found numerous ruins and I have explored dozens of them, from tiny hill-top circle of stone to the Great Zimbabwe itself. It is fascinating to come across a ruin totally off the map and unknown to anyone except those living in the immediate vicinity, and ponder on its history, the reasons for its construction and the logic behind its ground plan. District Commissioners were instructed to keep a note in their district information books of all bushmen paintings and ruins discovered and it was with a feeling of great pride that I was able to write up several previously unrecorded sites.
It is generally accepted that the original fortifications which now comprise the ruins were built for three main reasons - for religious or ceremonial purposes, for staging posts in the gold trade to Sofala and for protection against the raiding Ndebele.
Unfortunately, over the years the fortifications have been spoilt by the depredations of man seeking treasure or building materials and to a lesser extent by baboons or by the growth of trees. They are a fascinating part of our heritage and it is a pity that funds are not available to protect more than a handful of the most spectacular sites.
When stationed at Chibi in 1951 I heard of the great "elephant hill" called Rungai, which is clearly visible to the west of Masvingo to the Bietbridge highway. This massive bare granite mountain was the biggest and highest in the district and from some angles looked just like the head and body of an elephant. I was told that no white man had ever climbed it and that it had only been climbed once, by a demented old preacher of some obscure sect who had found his way to the top and decided that this was his opportunity to preach from the biggest pulpit that he had ever seen. He started to shout a sermon (no-one could possibly have heard him) and so the story goes, when in full cry, a sudden gust of wind blew him over the edge and he came tumbling down to his death. No other local person had ever attempted to climb Rungai since.
One Sunday I had attempted to reach the summit of Rungai by means of cracks in the rock in the region of the "neck" of the elephant. I managed to get about half way up when conditions became so steep and dangerous, that, without a companion or climbing equipment, I had to give up. A couple of weeks later I set out with two cadets on motor cycles and reached the base of Rungai which was about two hours drive from Chibi. One cadet, having seen the difficulty that the climb would present, decided very wisely about five metres from ground level that this was not for him and he volunteered to return and look after the motor cycles. The other cadet and I then commenced the daunting task of climbing up the rear aspect of the "elephant". All went well until about half way up when the upward slope steepened from about 60° to 70° and my companion, whom I shall just call Jim, suddenly called out to me from his position below me "I can't go any further". I advised him to hang on while I manouevered myself round to guide him and then a panic stricken voice shouted out "I can't hang on any more - I'm slipping". With that I managed to reach his outstreched hand with mine and grasped it with all my strength. The back of my hand was now against the rock face and feeling the security of my grip, Jim slipped down followed by me scrambling to maintain a grip on the rock and a grip on his hand. The back of my left hand scraped heavily down the rough granite for about two metres until Jim's feet found a toe hold on a slight ledge. There he stopped and I was able to release his hand. After he had settled down, I guided him back to the 60° slope, obtained his assurance that he was now able to descend on his own, with my handkerchief bound up my bleeding left hand from which I had lost a lot of skin and then managed to complete my scramble up the rock face and onto the back of the "elephant". I found to my delight that the hollow of the back contained a depression invisible except from above, in which grew a pristine forest of stunted trees, living on what little soil had accumulated there from tens of thousands of years erosion of the granite sides of the saucer plus what dust the wind had brought in. It was a wonderful feeling to be walking through a forest where so few, if any men, had walked before. Ten years later I learned that I was not the first white man to climb Rungai, but that the founder of the Native Agricultural Department, Emory Alvord, and his son Roy, had climbed it in 1939 by the cracks that had proved too much for me on my first attempt.
The hills of the Matopos, whether they be domed or castellated, display an air of permanence, as if they always were and always will be there. On some of the castle kopjes this impression is somewhat affected by the amazing balance that some boulders display - "How can that rock possibly stay in that position year after year when it seems that a puff of wind could blow it over?" Yet who has ever seen or heard the the crash of a falling boulder except those minor ones pushed over the edge by mischievous man kind? Yet it is obvious that over the countless millenia since the Matopos assumed their form, many thousands of boulders have fallen, and many mighty "onion skin" layers of granite have cracked open.
One night in 1963 after exceptionally heavy rains had softened the foundation of the soil on which it stood, and possibly assisted by a lightning strike and heavy wind, a massive boulder the size of a large double storey house, lost its balance on top of Bembe hill in the Mzinyathini communal land and came bouncing down the slope. Yes, 10 000 tonnes of solid rock bouncing - it was obvious on inspection later that this had happened. Parts of it shattered off and went on their own paths, leaving a swath of destruction up to a hundred metres wide in some places. From a distance it looked as if a team of bulldozers had scraped their way down fron the summit to the base of the hill. The path was visible from the main Bulawayo to Esigodini road for 12 years, but nature had healed the scars and they can now only be seen close up. The rock settled at the base of the hill where it will be for ever more. The incident caused much concern in the Mzinyatini communal area. I was the District Commissioner Essexvale at the time and visited the scene soon after it was reported to me.
If the path of destruction had been continued in imagination and projected further northwards it would have bisected Chief Mtozima's village about 4 kilometres away. He thought that this was some sort of message for him. His concern was compounded the next day when a most mysterious object fell out of the sky and landed in his yard. He sent for me and I found the remains of the radio transmitter that is sent up on regular occasions by the Meteorological department, attached to one of their balloons. I did my best to explain what it was but he was obviously deeply concerned at the twin portents and this seemed to be the catalyst for the peculiar obsession which on rare occasions affects mature rural Africans - he started have strange and compelling dreams that he should become a "sangoma" or soothsayer, and for the next year or so he undertook a "course" for this purpose under the senior sangoma who had been indicated to him in his dreams. He admitted to me that during this period his work as a chief would be affected. However, his people were sympathetic and after a year he "graduated" (Ndebele - ukuthwasa) and became his usual authoritative self except that he was available for consultation by anyone who thought his problem could be sorted out by a sangoma. A sangoma deals more with mental problems than an "Inyanga yokwelapha" who deals with physical illness and dispenses traditional medicines.
Another individual who was affected by the falling rock of Bembe was a buxom and handsome young woman in the area who had already established a reputation as a rainmaker "Ihosana wezulu". I had attended a rain dance at her village previously and the results were very gratifying as the subsequent rains were the best for many seasons. In fact, it was those rains that softened the foundation of the great rock that fell. Shortly afterwards she had a dream that she should move to the rock and so with the permission of the chief she packed her belongings and trekked the few kilometres from her old village to the rock. Accompanying her was a huge black goat that had the run of her village and was said to harbour the spirit of her late father who had also been a rainmaker. When next I visited her she had set up her home about 200 metres from the rock, separated from it by a small dry river. No-one was allowed to approach the rock any more as it was under its shadow that she performed the rainmaking rites and dances. In spite of her youth she aquired the honorific title of "Saluzazi" (Old woman).