The Flower Exile
She lives in exile on a lush green island;
An island that's always leafy, always wet,
Where new leaves push out the old,
And great fleshy flowers of orange and red
Rest on beds, on cumulus clouds of green,
Of viridian, emerald, and forest green,
Of green striped and spotted and splashed
With gold and cream, as if a profligate god
Had whirled and danced, and thrown gobbets
And streaks of tinted liquid with his eyes closed,
Laughing wildly against the sun.
But she will always yearn for the spare baked spaces
Of the high plateau of Africa, where, after a harsh dry spell
The weather turns, and against the gray lace of bare branch
A faint stirring comes. Among the eddies of dust
Small pale bells push through the ends of drooping wood,
And suddenly, along the streets there comes
A heavenly cloud of lilac, hiding branches, shimmering
And multiplying in fallen reflections on the ground.
Liz Davis, Manila (email: email@example.com)
We are very grateful to the large number of people that responded to our "Down Memory Lane" segment.
We want to give Rhodies the opportunity to share some of their memories on these pages for others to enjoy.
The Flower Exile is a poem written by Liz Davis, who now lives in Manila.
Some Memories of Life in Africa
Picking paper thorns out of your feet.
The smell of paraffin from the Khia.
Crickets and bullfrogs at night.
5c a coke...10c for a family size (And I could drink it all too)
Foot long Hot dogs at "Eskies" on the Matopos road in Bulawayo.
Yummy food and nice chicks at Fritz Drive in Restaurant plus driving through half a dozen times on New years to get kisses from them all.
Races at Vic Falls Road Circuit (and in our own cars on the Jo-burg road).
Lazy days by the pool at the Selbourne Hotel (Lottsa Shumba)
Safari suits with shorts (Not for me)
Llewellin Barracks (Intake 137) in Jan '74
Brady Barracks (Ex Military Police Sgt)
I used to live next door to a dancing school at the top end of Grey St Bulawayo at the start of Matopos Rd. Apart from watching the girls next door, we used to sit on the porch and watch VW beatles roll as they corner too fast coming into town.
Pickled Fish Mmmmmmmmmm (Miss that alot)
Drunken parties at the Queens Sports Club (Very Cheap Booze)
Cane and coke...I would kill for some Cane now.
The smell when it's going to rain.
The floods as it rains then dry 15 minutes after it stops.
Damn vag-n-bitjie bushes hurt don't they?
On the porch at Victoria Falls Hotel. The best place in the world to sit as the sun goes down. Marimba band. And a large Rock Shandy. Shoot me now because it doesn't get any better.
Eddie Barry, ex Bulawayo (email: firstname.lastname@example.org)
Some Memories was submitted by Eddie Barry, ex-Bulawayo. They the simple things that were just part of life, but now are just fond memories.
I must admit that when I read "The smell of paraffin" I could see the khia and smell the smell.
Thank you Eddie.
Eddie did say that if anyone remembers him, then please drop him a line.
When Honour Calls
That day will surely dawn afresh when Honour's drum beat sounds
And calls his chosen ones to rise and join that last parade
There shall be in that royal throng on that celestial ground
The fallen and those still awake, immortal to be made.
Then that grim tale of treachery shall no more be unclean
In fresh apparel with gowns of gold, now no need to fret
An everlasting crown thou hast, oh happy day serene
True patriot, thou can tarry now and cast off thy regret.
So soldier on with heart content thou hast a good fight done
And history shall call thy name with blessed hush thy gain
Thou will then tread those blessed paths sacred to so one
As thee who hath now this right and justly hath no stain.
Syd Weatherall, ex BSAP (email: email@example.com)
Syd is a former member of the BSAP and affectionately known as "The Bard". We are grateful for his penmanship and composition of this ode.