Black Mamba

From Great North Road

Black Mamba

From long past memories have put down a mamba incident that occurred one day on my Grandpa's farm.

During my early boyhood most houses had a large cast iron wood burning stove. On the farm this was no different but the meals cooked on it were second to none.

My favourite was bean soup that had been simmering gently on the back of the wood stove. About an hour before supper a large chunk of belly pork would be added to the pot where the whole lot would be served with steaming hot freshly baked bread that had just come out of the oven, yum, yum. Throughout the day there was an enamel coffee percolator sat on the back of the stove, which never seemed to be empty. Every time I helped myself to a cup of coffee, the pot always appeared to be more than half full. I tended to drink a few cups of coffee as the fresh water was drawn in a galvanised metal bucket from a well dug in the back vegetable garden. To draw off a cup of cool water you had to dip the cup, bottom first, whilst carefully tipping the edge so that the water could just flow in to the cup over its lip. If you just scooped up a cup of water you would end up with a tadpole or two wriggling around in your cup!

Once again, I have transgressed. The memory is of collecting firewood for the stove and the ‘Rhodesian Boiler’ to heat up water for the bath. Scavenging firewood was undertaken each time the woodpile was down to a quarter of the usual stockpile. A large flatbed trailer would be hooked up to the tractor and all the farm hands would sit on the trailer with legs dangling over the edge. It was just a case of travelling off into the Rhodesian bush and each dead tree being cut to manageable size and manhandled onto the trailer. With the trailer piled high with wood we would head home. As a young Rhodesian, I would join the wood gathering team but did not ride on the trailer. Being a young boy the most exciting place was standing on the footplate of the tractor where the driver sat. I would be leaning my rump back against one of the large mudguards covering the rear wheel.

On this particular day we were returning back to the farmhouse with a trailer brimming high with twisted, gnarled, bone dry logs. We were travelling flat out along a two track dirt farm road. The speed on the tachometer indicated 17mph and either side of the track the fully grown golden brown Rhodesian grass stood a good four to five feet tall. Where ever you looked was the light brown colour of the grass interspersed with gnarled trees within shouting distance of each other.

Looking around I spied behind us and to one side a large black snake travelling on top of the grass. It quickly caught up with the tractor and shot past for a couple hundred yards where it then slithered up a tree. It was as though you had run your finger along the top of the grasses. As the ten foot snake flew by, the grass stems would partially bow and once passed spring upwards again. It was bedlam! The lads sitting on the trailer were all jabbering excitedly, ten to the dozen, some calling for the driver to stop the tractor. The driver moved the throttle lever to idle, drawing up the tractor and trailer. Off jumped the wood gatherers and, grabbing hold of lengths of wood, made off for the tree.

From the safe haven of the idling, vibrating tractor I watched the farm hands throwing stones and bits of wood into the tree. The snake was eventually knocked to the ground where it was pounded to bits. All us Africans have a very healthy respect for the mamba and the only safe one is a dead one.

Take care one and all,

Contributed by Bob Eglinton.

March 2003