The Bad Years That Would Change Our Lives.

 We are branded as “Rooineks”

My Grandpa Passes Away.

            The year of 1941 would make a huge difference to our lives.   There was a world war on the go with Germany over-running many European countries.   It was so far from us but South Africa, as part of the British Commonwealth, had joined up with Britain and her allies.   A local organisation was established against the hated British and they were all for Germany.   The ‘Ossewa Brandwag’ was creating havoc with anti-British propaganda and acts of terrorism.   English speaking South Africans were branded as “Khakis” and “Rooineks” and were all condemned as part of the Afrikaner’s problems.   Our Prime 

J C Smuts

Minister, General Jannie Smuts, was seen as a traitor.   Even in the schools the children were calling us names and blaming us for the Anglo/Boer war where their grandmothers had died in concentration camps during a war which had taken place more than 40 years ago!   I must tell you that my sister, Bertha, would not stand for any of this and many times she would climb into bigger boys and send them on their way with more than bruised egos.

            The Ossewa Brandwag - Robey Leibrand’s oath to be made by recruits: “My aim and struggle is for the freedom and independence of the Afrikaner Nation in South Africa, and the establishment of a National Socialist State with the ideal of Adolf Hitler adjusted to the character of the Afrikaner Nation.   I admit that only a nation that fights for its rights has a right to survive and that action in the form of sacrifices and blood reflects the true will and character of a nation and individual.   In this spirit I declare myself prepared to suffer for my nation and fatherland and if necessary to die for it and signed in my own blood”.

My dad Bert Whittal

          

  My dad joined the South African Defence Force on the 15^th January 1941 and was sent to “Sonderwater” for his training in the Medical Corps.   (Pat Frykberg writes on the Internet - Sonderwater as I recall and I was there for 6 terrible weeks, was near or part of Cullinan Mine, north of Pretoria. during the war WW2 that is, it was a huge military camp, on the bare brown dusty veld, sonderwater and sonderbome as far as I remember. ghastly place.)

      Daddy decided to join the defence force for financial reasons and not for anything political.    But this meant that my mom would be farming on her own.   Poor Mommy acted so bravely for the sake of her children.   Thelma would take over some of the household duties and this she did as she was very capable.   She was a great help to Mommy and I regret that at times the younger children resented her and would say “You are not my mother”.

            My mother tried to drive the motorcar but broke the axle by releasing the clutch too soon so she would just have to use the cart and horses.   I remember hearing her cry during the nights.   I have often wondered why her father, Oupa Dave Randall did not come and live with us while my dad was away.   He was living with his son Paaitjie Randall and his wife Stienie.   Aunty Stienie was very good to Oupa and he was also very fond of her and her children.   Perhaps at his age he did not want to make any changes.   His twin sons did not join up and neither did Uncle Fred.   I know that my mom’s eldest brother, Uncle Arnold Randall, and his son, David, both joined the army, so did Uncle Cecil Whittal and Uncle Willie Foxcroft.   Uncle Arnold was at the battle of Tobruk, and the little bible he received there he gave to his niece Ellen Ambrose who now lives in Bloemfontein.

Grandpa John Henry Whittal

            My dear old Grandpa Henry Whittal was back on his farm and home “Inverbolo” in the Stutterheim District and fighting a battle of his own.   He had fought in the Frontier Wars and had survived, but this was his final straw, it was cancer of the bladder and he was being nursed by his daughter, Aunty May.   Sadly he passed away on the 12^th April 1941 in his own bed and was buried in the Bolo Anglican Church cemetery.   When you think about it, it was as though a big tree had been chopped down and would there ever be anyone who could grow as tall and straight as he had been.

            We only heard about his death about two weeks later as the postal service was not very good in those days.   I was too young to mourn his passing away and my happy times with him have been stored away in my memory box until now.

John Henry Whittal - a painting 
by his great-granddaughter Vanessa Bentley
March 2011

        It is said that people live on after death until no one remembers them any longer, so my dear Grandpa I hope you realise that in a way I have brought you back to life again and I want to thank you for your love and the good times that I spent with you.   In your way you taught us so much.

My Grandpa

Since I was a little child,

In all that I've been through;

You've always been my hero,
   No one stood as tall as you.

You were the one who took the time,
To teach what I needed to learn;
The lessons in life you shared with me,
You shared with love and concern.

I loved you as a little child,
And now that I am grown;
I share those lessons you taught me;
With children of my own.

Generation to generation,
I'll pass on your legacy;
I'll tell of my loving Grandfather,
And all that you mean to me.

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