The Republic of Enkeldoorn

I am not sure what year Enkeldoorn declared themselves independent to the rest of Rhodesia or why they actually made themselves a Republic, they apparently disagreed with some of the politics at the time, but I can tell you we spent many happy times in the Enkeldoorn Hotel. Henry Cook was the Prime Minister he also owned the Enkeldoorn hotel, a tall man with an aristocratic bearing who wore a monocle. He had a passion for horses and attractive women and would be seen riding every morning before breakfast. He was married to a wonderful lady called Olive who was very refined and terribly kind to everyone. The president was Buck Rogers and ex fighter pilot during the Second World War. He had a wonderful sense of humour and a lot of panache. His lovely wife was called Helen and she was engaged to be married before she met Buck. He of course swept her off her feet and Helen disengaged herself and became Buck's wife. One of the most interesting and lovable characters I have ever met.

There must be thousands of stories about Enkeldoorn and I would not know where to start. My first introduction to the Enkeldoorn Hotel was when I met my husband Patrick, he was studying at the University of Pietermaritzburg. I had never been to Rhodesia before and was very excited on our first trip. Patrick's father Godfrey farmed on Moreson Farm fairly near the town. The Enkeldoorn hotel was a hive of activity in those days as it was right on the road so many weary travellers stopped for refreshment. The bar was always full of interesting characters and it was the social hub of Enkeldoorn. It was also a watering hole for the Security Forces. A farmer would call across to the Bank manager who would also be seated at the bar and informally ask for an overdraft. It would be granted most of the time. The traveller would of course head for the hotel and enter the bar, it was usually presided over by Buck Rogers who always sat on the same bar stool which was always reserved for him and took a personal interest in all the people who entered especially pretty females. There the unsuspecting traveller would be asked for his passport, they would then be thrown in the Enkeldoorn jail and forced to drink a beer. The passport was then stamped with the Republic of Enkeldoorn Visa. This practice had to stop as a stern letter was issued by the British Government that the Republic of Enkeldoorn was not officially recognized and they could be arrested. So much to Buck's regret visas were issued, with a stamp and his flourishing signature.

I have many happy memories of Enkeldoorn as we spent a lot of University holidays working in the bar. Henry Cook was a Rhodesian shotist and because of the terrorist situation at the time he thought it was a good idea to show my sister-in-law Lin how to handle a weapon. She was working as a barmaid for Henry. From under the counter he produced a pistol. This is a good start Lin he told her seriously. Now in those days it was important that your weapon was cleared as it was the height of the war and an Accidental Discharge was a punishable offence. Henry gave Lin a stern lecture on this offence and told her it was the most important thing to do before handling a gun. Satisfied that she had taken it all in, he stood behind Lin extending his arm and aimed carefully at the ceiling. He gently coaxed her through her fear of handling the weapon. As he came to the part where he instructed her on how to gently squeeze the trigger, there was an enormous bang that echoed round the bar. I don't know who was more shocked Lin or Henry but there was a round bullet hole in the ceiling and bits of plaster fell on the bar counter. Buck Rogers who had been sitting at the bar watching the lesson with some amusement, had left to relieve himself in the Men's Room unobserved by Henry. On his return he heard the shot and quickly surmised what had happened. Never failing to have a good time at somebody else's expense, he came staggering through the saloon doors clutching his chest. Henry! Henry! He gasped I have been shot and promptly fell to the floor. I can still hear Lin's scream resounding through the bar and the expression on Henry's face. Of course Buck could not keep the pretence up for too long as he was convulsed with laughter. The relief when Buck got to his feet inspired Henry to buy everybody a free drink although Lin had a hard time pouring them as she was shaking so much. It was the last time Henry gave Lin a lesson in how to handle a fire arm.

Patrick and I were married in Enkeldoorn. Buck Rogers gave me away. It was a wedding like no other. The guests arrived in convoy from South Africa and other parts as it was unsafe for people to travel by themselves due to the terrorist activity. As Erica Archibald my bridesmaid and I were getting ready Buck arrived with the car which was a brand new Citroen. He looked very handsome in his suit and I was extremely proud to have such an illustrious member of the Republic to give me away. I could tell Buck thought he looked very dapper as well; we admired his suit and flower in his buttonhole. Buck thought that Erica and I looked slightly nervous and encouraged us to have a sherry or two to before we left for the church. Erica and I looked like meringues one in white one in blue but both agreed that a sherry would relax us, as we put the finishing touches to our makeup. After a bottle of sherry the bride, bridesmaid and President were ready to leave for the church. Unfortunately for Buck he caught his foot on the side of the Citroen door and landed face downward in the dust. It was that African red dust that sticks to your clothing and face and he had to give up his battle of trying to wash it off. You can imagine the guests surprise as Buck walked in still frantically trying to dust himself off. He was so preoccupied with this task that when it came to the part when the Minister asks who gives this bride away he completely forgot, and had had to be elbowed in the ribs. It was just before the rains and the church was hot and stuffy. I suddenly felt giddy, the after effect of too much sherry and started to topple. Father Gardener who was marrying us looked at me with some concern and brought the ceremony to a halt. Would you like a drink of water before I proceed he asked kindly. I nodded, searching for somewhere to sit down. Patrick's best man Colin Archibald looked relieved as he was still trying to persuade Pat not to go through with it. A runner in the form of Brian the best man's brother was dispatched to fetch some water; this took about an hour as he had to head for the Enkeldoorn Hotel and decided he might as well have a beer while he was there. By the time he returned the guests were restless and there was a buzz of impatience round the church. There were no further incidents and Pat and I were officially and legally married in the Republic of Enkeldoorn.

The reception took place on the farm. Sadly Patrick's mother Vera had died of cancer when he was young. So Patrick and his brothers were brought up by Aunt Siegfried, who was a magnificent cook, Siggi as she was affectionately known took charge of the catering. During the war years stringent precautions had to be taken as one was always worried about a terrorist attack. So most guests had weapons and of course hand held radios or the Agric Alert systems so that farm homesteads could be warned of insurgents. As we sat down for the speeches somebody spotted an African bus in the distance which they thought was travelling in a no go area, the terminology used by the Security forces at the time, meaning the bus should not be traveling on that road. Every male at the wedding suddenly leapt into cars with their weapons to pursue the bus, abandoning the speeches and leaving the female contingency behind. They were soon back it was a false alarm the speeches continued and then the festivities started. Usually everyone on the farm participates in a Farm wedding and the African labour is no exception and usually sits on the periphery of the celebrations. They prefer their local beer, meat dishes and their traditional porridge which are supplied. As Patrick and I sat at the head table listening attentively to our well wishers you can imagine our surprise as we noticed in the distance a figure dressed in his cook whites performing a highly athletic gymnastic routine. On closer scrutiny the figure revealed itself as Pickwick Pat's fathers cook. The labour force shouted encouragement as he somersaulted through the air. Then to our amazement another figure appeared it was Godfrey Patrick's father and the last sight of Pickwick was a huge kick to the rear. A highly incensed and out of breath Godfrey revealed that Pickwick had been helping himself to the crates of champagne imported from South Africa and a rare treat in Rhodesia at the time with all the sanctions. When Godfrey went into the storeroom to replenish the champagne all that was left were cases of empty bottles.

Another of my favourite stories is about the Hypnotist; as Enkeldoorn was on the main road to Harare it was very accessible. So much to the delight of the Enkeldoorn community it was often visited by travelling musicians, dance troupes and on one occasion a hypnotist. It so happened that this event coincided with one the university holidays. The hypnotist advertised his show and it was to be held at the Enkeldoorn Hall. When we arrived nearly every seat was taken and there was a hushed expectancy as the Hypnotist took to the stage. He as a burly man with a huge black moustache very charismatic and soon has his audience relaxed and happy. He asked for volunteers, there was a flurry of hands begging to be asked to go on stage. This included my sister in law Lin and her friend Sue. He then asked for a few people to act as helpers to protect the person if they should fall. Much to Lin's delight a gorgeous rancher who we all secretly fancied bounded athletically on stage. Dammit, I thought I should have volunteered. The hypnotist got to work and in no time Lin and Sue were barking like dogs, pretending they were motorcars and scurrying around on all fours. Now shouted the hypnotist dramatically I will put them to sleep and they will topple backwards into the arms of our volunteers, he pointed to the gorgeous rancher and his not so gorgeous friend. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Lin shuffled closer and positioned herself opposite the gorgeous rancher leaving Sue in the hands of the not so good looking one. True to his word they were soon in a hypnotic trance, they wobbled this way and that, and then stiffened like boards and toppled backwards; Lin was enveloped snugly in the gorgeous rancher's arms. I sat bolt upright in my seat did I see her eyelids flicker?

Patrick's father Godfrey was a delightful man, well bred and cultured with charming manners and a wonderful sense of humour but he was very shy.  He was extremely musical and could play the piano beautifully; he also had green fingers and his crops always looked beautiful. In his youth he had been an accomplished rider and as a child was a famous show jumper in Berlin before they had to move to Africa. He often was called to the piano for an impromptu concert. The first time I met Godfrey he was sat at the bar in the Enkeldoorn pub waiting for our arrival from South Africa. He was dressed in striped pyjamas and a white dressing gown with his slippers on. Although I thought his attire was unusual no one else did. Eventually after a few drinks I summoned the courage to enquire about his dress. Ah, he said in his beautiful voice with a slight German accent," If I have a late night I can just go straight to bed it's so convenient." He didn't always wear his pyjamas to the pub of course but often after a heavy night at the Enkeldoorn Hotel I wished I had gone in my pyjamas as it was a long drive home.

As Enkeldoorn was predominantly a farming town everybody had horses. There were paper chases, gymkhanas and other horsy events. Everybody joined in. Henry Cook usually organised them with the help of Godfrey. We arrived for a Gymkhana and the whole family participated in most events. Pat's brother Paul brought a few friends, one of them a rancher called Sid from Matabeleland. Everybody was encouraged to take part but Sid showed some reluctance. Pat's brother Paul would not take no for an answer and persuaded the hapless Sid to enter. The event was called Picking up the Stirrup. Seeing poor Sid's hesitation Paul tried to reassure him. Look Sid, he said this is our best trained horse he is called Hiawatha. Sid looked sceptical. He is like a lamb said Paul giving Hiawatha a slap on the rump, who responded with a well aimed kick which Paul just managed to avoid. Pat and I looked at one another Hiawatha was not known for his happy disposition. Sid looked uncertain but Paul had fired up enthusiasm and his friends egged him on. Sid mounted cautiously and headed for the starting line. Paul cracked open the beers and everyone drank lustily. Sid was soon armed with a long pole and the idea was to gallop at full speed down the stretch of track aiming for a stirrup which was placed on a barrel. You would scoop it up with your stick, gallop to your original position until all the stirrups were collected. The competitors stood impatiently in line waiting for the whistle. Hiawatha was a picture of docility and Sid looked like a knight armed with his lance. The whistle blew and the horses set off at a gallop. Paul and his friends shouted encouragement from the sidelines. As Sid lunged for the first stirrup Hiawatha in full gallop tucked in his head and arched his back, he then launched into a buck extending his legs in the front as well as the back as though he had been in rodeo all his life. The surprise on Sid's face was comical as he soared through the air still clutching his pole. He landed at our feet wide eyed and severely winded while Hiawatha grazed contentedly on a patch of grass. Paul collapsed with mirth, slapping his thighs as a dazed Sid staggered to his feet. I don't think Sid was ever persuaded to ride again. 

I have so many happy memories of Enkeldoorn, it was a truly memorable place.

Mandy
Chinhoyi
Zimbabwe