Christmas 1952

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By Kenneth Miller.
December 2001

As a young boy growing up in Kasama during the early 1950's there was always an air of excitement during the weeks and days leading up to Christmas. Constant reminders were made that Father Christmas was watching to see who was naughty or nice, for whatever reason, I was constantly reminded of this.

The adults awaited in great anticipation for the Thatcher Hobson lorry that would bring in the supplies from the Copperbelt and the line of rail. Dad's favourite bottle of Scotch, Mum's Chanel No. 5, and of course the gifts for me that would miraculously appear under the tree on Christmas Day.

Among the Christmas supplies were the cards and gifts that had been mailed months earlier from grandparents in Scotland and had traveled by Union Castle ships to Capetown, north by rail to Broken Hill where it was put on the lorries for the long trek up the Great North Road to Kasama.

Fresh beef was rare, and many a chicken was sacrificed as we pretended that we were eating Christmas turkey. Father Bonar, a colourful wee Scot from Glasgow, a member of the White Fathers did some horse trading with his peers at the mission in Mulilansolo near Isoka, about a hundred miles East of Kasama for some piglets. Pork was truly a treat. It was arranged that John Tinnis would butcher the pigs and the pork roasts would be distributed to the good folks of Kasama.

Early in the morning on the appointed day, I went with my Dad to the PWD yard to pick up a big green Bedford lorry. We headed to the White Fathers House, picked up Father Bonar, who brought along a bottle of Scotch to sweeten the deal with his brother clergy. A final stop was made at the Kasama Prison where a dozen or so prisoners joined me in the back of the lorry and we headed to Mulilansolo.

After an hour or so traveling down dusty corrugated bush roads we arrived at the Chambesi River. We faced our first major challenge, the water was too deep to ford, and the new wooden bridge with it huge timbers had not yet been surfaced to allow vehicles to cross.

A lorry was spotted on the far side, and after much deliberation and greasing of palms, it was agreed that we would continue our journey using the lorry belonging to the bridge work crew. The long walk across the open timbers started, both my Dad and the good Father lovingly carrying the bottle of Scotch, gingerly made their way across, while I enjoyed an elevated position perched on the shoulders of one of the prisoners. What seemed an eternity passed, and we eventually resumed our pilgramage in the new lorry.

We were welcomed with open arms by the Fathers at Mulilansolo who fed us a lunch fit for a king and of course it was fittingly washed down with the fine Scotch supplied by Father Bonar. After lunch, the financial transactions were completed and we then headed towards the field where the pigs were kept.

Once it was determined which piglets would feed the folks back in Kasama, the chase was on as the prisoners chased their fleeing quarry across the field. Eventually our total supply of piglets were caught and placed into large sacks. We left the mission in the late afternoon and raced towards the waters of the mighty Chambesi, hoping to make the crossing before night fall.

On reaching the bridge, again I perched on the shoulders of a prisoner and was carried across. We led the charge followed by the other prisoners carrying their cargo of piglets. The Scotch, or perhaps a sudden attack of malaria, had obviously affected both my Dad and Father Bonar as they were observed making the crossing on their hands and knees.

Shortly after starting the final leg of our journey, night fell and the prisoners started singing as the big Bedford lorry raced towards home under the cool star lit Africa sky.