Just over a century ago, Russian society suffered a massive convulsion, the after-shocks of which are still being felt across the world to this day. A widespread discontent amongst peasants, workers and soldiers, serving on the WW1 battle fronts, both with Tzarist imperial rule and a system of government they regarded as anachronistic, corrupt, extremely unequal and exploitative, led to a series of revolts and uprisings which culminated in the overthrow of the Romanov dynasty. The deposed monarchy was replaced by a liberal Provisional government (Duma) which did not last long and was, in turn, overthrown by the Bolshevik Revolution of October 1917.
The Bolsheviks were, by no means, the majority party but their leader Vladimir Lenin – ably assisted by Trotsky and Stalin – was more than happy to sacrifice ethics on the altar of the cause, tell useful lies and suppress harmful truths if it got him what he wanted. Their ruthlessness, obsessive vision and scorn for all forms of conventional morality helped propel them into power.
In Marxist mythology, both the revolution and civil war that followed are usually cast in heroic terms but the reality, as this book makes only too clear, was anything but with both sides displaying an almost limitless capacity for killing once the means were in their hands – thanks in part to an indoctrination programme that persuaded murderers that their victims deserved their fate.
The more vulnerable or threatened they felt, the more brutal they got. Terror begot yet more terror.
Most famous amongst the many murders carried out was that of Tzar Alexander and his family, whose execution, in cold blood, represented, in the author’s words, “a declaration of total war in which the ‘sanctity of human life’, as well as notions of guilt and innocence, counted for nothing.”
Opposing the Bolshevik’s Red Army were the Whites, a somewhat shaky and improbable alliance of moderate socialists, reactionary monarchists and members of the old military officer class. Like the Bolsheviks, they were quickly corrupted by the cause and perpetrated their share of horrors and atrocities. At various stages, both sides were aided and assisted by several outside powers, including the US, England, Germany, France, Poland, China and Japan..
Riven with internal divisions and wide ideological differences, the Whites, in the end, proved, no match for the single-minded dedication and relentless determination of the Reds. Their victory helped usher in the modern era of the all-powerful, all-seeing state.
In this fascinating and meticulously researched account author Anthony Beevor, who earned plaudits for his previous book Stalingrad, takes the reader on a chronological journey through events, showing how an incompetent and out-of-touch tsar, a group of ruthless revolutionaries and a catastrophic world war, all combined to plunge Russia into a maelstrom of human hatred and destruction. Offering new insights and drawing imaginatively on a range of eyewitness accounts, it provides a powerful panorama of a watershed moment in history
With Vladimir Putin seeking to rehabilitate the memory of Josef Stalin with his own dangerous gamble in Ukraine, the legacy of these years remains as relevant now as it ever did.
It is why histories like this one must continue to be written and read.
Published by Jonathan Ball
The Anglo-Boer War which took place between 1899 and 1902 was one of the seminal events in South African history. It came about as the result of a deliberately aggressive policy adopted by imperial Britain – and in particular the high commissioner at the Cape, Sir Alfred Milner (hence its other name: Milner’s War) – towards the Boers of the Transvaal and Orange Free State republics. The major prize on offer was control of the incredibly rich Rand goldfields.
In the end, it did not turn out to be the quick dust-up many of the British had anticipated and for a while, the Boers actually held the upper hand, a situation which only changed when the British poured in more troops. At the end of the conflict, twenty-five thousand British and imperial troops were dead, many of them by disease rather than enemy fire.
More than this, it provided Britain with its first taste of modern warfare and it proved a humiliating lesson for a country which then laid claim to a substantial portion of the world.
The war was also modern in the sense that it was one of the first to be photographed extensively thanks to advances in photographic technology and the introduction of hand-held cameras. Tinus Le Roux, a South African photographer, has sifted through thousands of these old black and white photographs and selected a representative sample which he has then hand-coloured with the aid of a computer to give them an added freshness and lustre.
Put together in chronological order, the first volume of his The Boer War in Colour covers the conventional phase of the war, from October 1899 to September 1900. The result is a triumph of judgement and selection, that offers a vivid new picture of a country preparing for and then torn apart by what effectively became a civil war; a war that left behind a legacy of bitterness that still lingers on today. Famous faces are there but perhaps it is the portraits of ordinary burghers, civilians and soldiers going about their everyday business in a time of great upheaval and change that gives these iconic historical photos their power and poignancy.
A man of great intellect and boundless drive, energy and vision, Jan Smuts’s contribution to the creation of modern South Africa has been rather glossed over in recent years probably because it doesn’t fit into the current political narrative. It is a situation which author Richard Steyn – a former editor of the Witness – sought to redress in Jan Smuts: Unafraid of Greatness. His book struck a responsive chord. Since it was first published in 2015 it has sold over 20 000 copies and has now been reissued.
Born in Riebeek West in the Western Cape in 1870, Smuts had a fierce intelligence and focus that assured success at virtually everything he turned his hand to. After a distinguished academic career, he rose to political prominence when President Paul Kruger appointed him Transvaal State Attorney at the tender age of 28. Although vastly different, the two men established a good working relationship based on mutual respect for one another. As a guerilla leader, fighting against the English in the Anglo-Boer War, he displayed great physical bravery and a good grasp of tactics even though he had not trained as a soldier.
At the end of the war, believing the best way forward was to attempt to reconcile Boer and British interests, Smuts would play an instrumental role in the formation of the Union of South Africa.
At the outbreak of the First World War, Smuts returned to his role as a military leader helping to drive the Germans out of South West Africa and then taking part in the East African campaign. Lionised abroad for his achievements, he would go on to become an adviser to numerous leaders and heads of state and served in the British War Cabinet.
At the end of hostilities, Smuts, almost alone among Allied leaders, argued that it was a mistake to place a crippling burden on defeated Germany because he believed it would ultimately backfire. In this, he would be proved correct. Adolph Hitler would later exploit this sense of grievance.
After becoming Prime Minister, he lead South Africa into the Second World War as part of a pro-Interventionist group, further alienating himself from large sections of the Afrikaans community. The British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill made full use of his talents, however, and he became both his trusted confidant and adviser. More than any other Commonwealth leader Smuts commanded Churchill’s respect and affection in part, no doubt because he appeared to share the British world view.
The massive disruption and carnage caused by both wars had a profound effect on Smuts. Believing that the world could not carry on like this he set out to transform the whole international scene by advocating the establishment of the League of Nations which later morphed into the United Nations.. In many ways, it was an impossible ideal but it initiated something we are still trying to do: put the pieces back together.
Like Thabo Mbeki, much later, Smuts enjoyed far greater fame and prestige overseas than he did back home where he remained a divisive figure despite his best efforts to unify the nation. Failing to read the mood of the country, he was eventually defeated at the polls in 1948 by the more hard-line, pro-segregationist National Party who took over the reins of power. It was the end of an era.
In charting his astonishing career, Steyn does an excellent job in rescuing Smuts and restoring him to his rightful place in history. Although largely admiring of the man’s achievements, he does not spare us his failings: he could be aloof and high-handed, paternalistic and patronising. Although far-sighted in other matters, he never really got to grips or acted decisively on the race issue
Deeply researched, but light of touch and rich in insight, Steyn succeeds in performing one of the main duties of a historian (and a journalist for that matter): he provides a highly readable narrative.
Published by Jonathan Ball
As Governor of the Cape and High Commissioner of South Africa, Alfred Milner was a man who cast a long shadow and it is largely as a result of his, often devious, machinations that the country came to exist in its current form.
Having already written several acclaimed books on the era, including one on Louis Botha as well as the recently re-released Jan Smuts: Man of Greatness, Richard Steyn – a previous editor of the Witness – is the ideal candidate to resuscitate and re-examine Milner’s contribution and place in history. While researching and writing his recent series of books, Steyn has acquired a terrific knowledge of the subject and in Milner: Last of the Empire Builders he tackles the political circumstances, the personalities and the rationale behind their actions.
Sent to South Africa to try and resolve the heightening tensions between the Boers and the Uitlanders in the Transvaal, Milner was and remains a controversial figure. Entrenched in his belief in English racial superiority he was, as some commentators have mentioned, the wrong man to handle the country’s complex, multi-layered, problems. In negotiations, he showed little concern to appease grievances or try and bridge the gap between the two camps. Driven by his messianic belief in Empire his overriding aim was to unite the whole of Southern Africa under British rule.
What seems beyond doubt is that he was ready to go to war to achieve this goal and thanks to a bit of political skulduggery on his part he achieved just this. It soon emerged, however, that he had misjudged his adversary and instead of the hoped-for quick, decisive victory what he got was a long, clumsy, chaotically fought campaign that left him a detested figure in the eyes of the Boers, for whom he never showed any real sympathy.
As a man, Milner embodied a contradiction. A brilliant scholar, he could be warm, personable and charming (although he married late he seems to have been popular with women) but when it came to his life work he could, as an imperialist ideologue, be arrogant, haughty and single-minded. Convinced of his rightness and confident in his powers of persuasion he was not easily swayed from his chosen course of action.
He was hardly exceptional in his crusading zeal. Nowadays, it has become quite commonplace to look upon Empire as a bad thing but back then a whole generation of, often very gifted, young men grew up believing themselves to be the true heirs to the Romans and considered it their duty, as Englishmen, to bring civilization to decadent or barbarian people – by whatever means necessary.
(An irreverent aside: it has been observed elsewhere that the rise and fall of the British Empire coincided with that of the British moustache so it is interesting to see that most of the main protagonists in this book – Milner, Lord Roberts, Kitchener – all sported very fine examples of these).
After he left South Africa, Milner’s vision of a unified South Africa was partly realised by the group of carefully selected young administrators he left behind him – his Kindergarten as they came to be known. Back in England, he remained a prominent and respected public figure although not without his detractors. Steyn makes a convincing case that, as War Secretary in Lloyd George’s five-man War Cabinet, he played an instrumental role in shaping an Allied victory. In so doing, he not only cemented his legacy but partly redeemed himself for whatever damage he may have done to his reputation in his often high-handed handling of the South African crisis.
In writing about his achievements, Steyn has found a single life that illuminates a dark chapter. For any biographer, it is a fascinating story but the author is exceptional in bringing not only a thorough knowledge but also an elegant style and a gift for narrative,
Two High Plains Drifters: the author and Prof Goonie Marsh. Pic courtesy of Sally Scott.
There is no risk of overstating it: 2020 was a horrible year. With levels of worry, anxiety and depression reaching a new high level mark, I finally realised emergency solutions were called for. After puzzling it over, I decided the best thing to do would be to try and end the year on a high note by escaping – if only briefly – from all the mania and talk surrounding Covid-19.
And so we took to the hills, heading up into one of the more remote and isolated areas of the country – the Great Karoo, which forms part of South Africa’s vast, high-lyng central plateau. Here, I hoped, I would be able to rid my mind of the ever-looming spectre of the pandemic and reboot my soul.
Officially, there were three of us on the expedition – myself, my artist sister, Sally Scott, and Professor Goonie Marsh, the former-head of the Department of Geology Department at Rhodes University and a very useful man to have around because of his extensive knowledge of all things Karoo. Also, he is very good company.
The route Goonie had plotted for us, took us through the tiny hamlet of Riebeek East where the famous Voortrekker leader Piet Retief once owned the farm, Mooimeisefontein. Retief would later go on to negotiate land deals for his people in what is now my home turf, KwaZulu Natal, before his unexpected assassination at the hands of King Dingaan of the Zulu.
The road out of Riebeek East.
Riebeek East Church.
There was another reason I wanted to check out Riebeek-East. An ancestor of mine, on my father’s mother’s side, Lt Colonel Richard Athol Nesbitt, had served here as a sub-inspector with the Frontier Armed and Mounted Police (FAMP) back in 1866. Besides a few drowsing cows lying on the side of the road, there was not much sign of life. Cruising down the town’s empty streets, I tried to visualise what it must have been like when the sub-inspector came riding into town, correct and erect in his policeman uniform, on top of his handsome horse. It must, I concluded, have felt like some sort of banishment because, even today, Riebeek-East feels cut off from the outside world.
This point notwithstanding, I found I was developing a bit of a kinship with Richard Athol. It was almost like he was along with us for the ride. On my way down to Grahamstown, where Sally lives, I had stopped for a breather at Fort Brown, on the Great Fish River, another nondescript outpost of Empire where he had served. This was not the only place where we were to dog each others shadows. In 1872 Nesbitt was promoted to Acting Inspector and despatched to the next town on our journey, the more substantial Somerset East, nestling under the massive bulwark of the Bosberg.
In 1878 the FAMP were militarised, as a unit of the Colonial Forces, and renamed Cape Mounted Riflemen (CMR). The unit would go on to play a prominent role in the numerous conflicts that broke out within the Cape Colony and around its borders, as a result of the Cape government’s expansionist policies. Later, Richard Athol would come out of retirement and – at the request of the Colonial Government – raise and command Nesbitt’s Horse which, in his own clipped words, “served in most of the principal events of the [Anglo-Boer) war, with Lord Robert’s march – Paardeburg, capture of Bloemfontein, Johannesburg, Pretoria and in clearing the colony of rebels.”
The Lt Col was obviously not one for uneccessary sentiment or wasting words…
1902 found him resident in Grahamstown. His military exploits are commemorated in the impressive monument which stands in front of the town’s old Methodist Church. An entire side-panel is devoted to those members of his unit who lost their lives in this bitter conflict.
We finally parted company with our ghost passenger somewhere up on the Bruintjeshooghte, just south of Somerset East. We were now travelling in less familiar territory. Ahead lay the vast Plains of Cambdeboo, immortalised by the author Eve Palmer in her classic book of the same name. You actually pass by the farm – Cranemere – where she grew up and lived and you can still see the same dam that provided them with their lifeblood – water.
The Plains of Cambdeboo from Bruinteshoogte, looking towards Graaff Reinet.
The Plains of Cambdeboo looking back towards Somerset East.
The small town of Pearston, where the great palaeontologist Dr Robert Broom once lived, is also on the road although, like many of these Karoo dorps, it now looks a little fly blown and past its best. Of Broom himself, more later.
Pearston street scenes.
Pearston.
Beyond that the world lay wide and empty around us until we finally got to Graaff Reinet – or the “gem of the Karoo” as it is sometimes called because of its neat, shaded streets and beautiful period houses – set in a mass of wild-looking hills with the Valley of Desolation to the west and, overlooking the town, the prominent landmark of Spandau Kop. Established in 1786, it is South Africa’s fourth oldest town and has its origins as a far flung frontier settlement on the very edges of the old Cape Colony.
Street scene, Graaff Reinet.
Just outside of town, on the road to Murraysburg, there is a stark, simple monument to Gideon Scheepers, the Boer military leader who was court-martial-led and shot here on the 18th June 1902, by the British authorities. It was – according to Goonie (who also has a solid grasp of the region’s history) – a severe punishment which turned him into an instant martyr for the Afrikaner cause. As opponents in the Anglo-Boer War, I wondered if Gideon and Richard Athol had ever crossed paths?
Beyond that, the road climbed steeply up the Oudeberg Pass. Before I knew it the Plains of Camdeboo were below us, then out of sight. At the turn-off, to Nieu-Bethesda we stopped for lunch on the side of the road, under one of those abrupt, flat-topped, mountains that rise out of the plains, like talismanic guardians, throughout the Karoo…
Lunchbreak in the Karoo.
The Karoo is a land of sun, heat, and stillness although, as if to defy my expectations, a light drizzle began to fall as we unpacked our picnic basket on the tail-gate of the bakkie. The summers can be scorchingly hot, in winter the night temperatures regularly drop well below freezing point. Rainfall is erratic, drought common.
It was not always so. There was a time when ceaseless rains poured down upon this ancient land, leaving it covered with inland seas, lakes, and swamps. Millions of strange-looking reptiles and amphibians roamed around and then died here; in our era, their fossilised remains have made the Karoo world-famous for palaeontologists. This brings us back to that pioneer of the profession, Dr Robert Broom, who did so much to uncover their secrets.
As we drove deeper into the interior the hills became barer, even more silent. There was little sign of habitation although, every now and again there was the occasional windmill or wind pomp just to remind you that people lived here. The road wound on and on, empty and devoid of traffic, so much so that driving along it eventually became like a form of meditation.
Originally this vast area was occupied by the San, aboriginal hunters, small in size and few in number, who drifted with the seasons and the herds of game. Of these animals the springbok is, undoubtedly, the most emblematic of the Karoo, their bodies evolving, over time, to deal with the hardships of life in this arid country. Despite the devastation wreaked by the early white hunters, which saw this beautiful animal being exterminated over much of its range, the springbok population has begun to rise again, now that their commercial value has become appreciated.
Later, the San themselves were hunted down or driven into the swamps and deserts. In their place came trekkers, traders, missionaries, and explorers, who braved the fierce heat, moving with their wagons and animals into the harsh dry interior. With them, they bought their religion. Nearby Murraysburg, named to honour the Reverend Andrew Murray, was originally a church town resorting under the full control of the Dutch Reformed Church up until June 1949 when it was placed under the control of the local municipality.
Just beyond the spot where a large sign announced that we were leaving the East and entering the West Cape, we came to an imposing white-pillared gate with a sign “Oudeland” next to it. Here we swung right, driving down a dirt road dotted with caramel-brown rain puddles. In every distance, the plain was sparse and bare although we did pass the crumbling ruins of an old barn and kraal with the inevitable wind pomp standing like a sentinel behind it. Moving fast, the clouds cast a storm light across the buildings. I wanted to look for the species of lark that had these scrub-strewn grasslands all to themselves but with more rain threatening now wasn’t the time for it so we plugged on.
Old barn and windmill. Pic taken after storm clouds had blown away.
Cresting a rise, the farmhouse and outbuildings came in to view in a valley below where – Goonie explained – a sill of hard, erosion-resistant, dolerite had cut through the softer sedimentary rocks. A small, seasonal, stream ran through the middle of it. The main farm complex was situated on the one side amongst a mass of poplar, gum, and willow trees and fields of grazing merino sheep; the lush green colour of the lucerne pastures, in which they were feeding, contrasting sharply with the stark, elemental beauty of the semi-desert that surrounded them.
Our house lay on the opposite bank, just above a belt of prickly pears. As we drove into the fenced yard we were greeted by a brown horse and a small herd of multi-coloured springbok. Such colour morphs are extremely rare in the wild (in fact, they are so unusual they were venerated by the San) but these white, or leucistic, forms are mostly the result of selective breeding to meet the needs of hunters seeking exotic trophies. It is a practice that has caused some controversy because the genes which cause these colour variants are actually recessive and so could weaken the species.
I am not a hunter and I get no joy in taking life, so I was delighted to share the animals’ company just for its own sake, especially when – every now and again and for seemingly no particular reason – its various members started leaping in stiff-legged bounces known as “pronking”, in which all four hooves hit the ground at the same time. The small herd was, the owner’s wife explained, all orphans who had been hand-reared and loved to the point where they had become family pets. Each one had its own name. I was especially taken with the one very friendly individual who had one blue eye and one green.
The house itself was built in the usual airy Karoo style with white-washed walls and a wide verandah on which you could sit and gaze out over the distant lonely blue mountains. Inside the appliances were all modern although the stuffed head of a large buffalo bull, as well as that of a puzzled-looking Zebra, added a slightly incongruous touch.
I was up at daybreak. We were lucky that morning. Overnight, the rain clouds had all blown away. The sky above us was a strange intense blue, wind-cleaned, limitless, and crisscrossed with lazy scrawls of thin cloud. There was a lovely lyrical quality to the landscape, to my eyes, it all seemed intoxicatingly clean and remote. Although I am not from these parts, I felt totally at home in this indivisible, self-contained world.
Not much shelter…
In this sort of country, there is almost no shade or protection from the elements although our morning walk did take us up to a stony ridge in which there was an overhang with bushes growing at its mouth. On its walls, we were excited to discover several faded examples of San rock art. I had no way of knowing how old they were – possibly thousands of years?
From the cave entrance we looked down over a large dam which reflected the changing weather in the sky above. Water lines of geese and duck and dabchick cracked its surface. Such open stretches of water always come as a surprise in this thirst-land. For the birds it must indeed seem like manna from heaven..
Back on the path, Goonie came to an abrupt stop, pointed his walking stick in the direction of an exposed sheet of unsuspecting, layered, grey rock and declared: “That looks like just the spot for a fossil!”. Sure enough, when we went down to investigate, we found several tiny fragments of fractured fossilised bone. With my untrained eye I would never have suspected they were there and would have passed the site by without a sideways glance.
Just the spot for a fossil. Prof Goonie Marsh.
The fossil embedded in the rock. Pic courtesy of Sally Scott.
Leaving them undisturbed we continued down to the dam wall. From its top we stood, awed by the view, as the escarpment retreated away; each ridge exposing new gullies and rough broken ground and more valleys until finally reaching the horizon, where the pale ramparts of the distant range of mountains raised themselves. Then we walked on, feeling buoyant and light and energised. Sally, with her artists eye (as opposed to Goonie’s more scientific one) was struck by all the strange patterns and details in the landscape and regularly stopped to record them.
Later, when it got too hot for walking, Goonie and I climbed in to the circular reservoir around the back of the house and had a swim. It felt good, splashing around like I was a young boy again…
A refreshingdip…
That evening we sat with our drinks out on the verandah. The earth was still in twilight shadow. In the distance massed, bulging, cumulonimbus clouds gathered above the mountain tops. As the sun sank so they changed shape, form and colour.
All felt well with the world. Far from the madding crowds, I finally began to get some sort of harmony between body and mind. Looking back over the journey, I also felt I had established another link with my past, learnt a little bit more about how I got to be who and where I am…
Harmony in nature...
My sense of contentment did not last. Back in Grahamstown all the talk still centred on the pandemic and the overcrowded hospitals and the beach and liquor ban. I couldn’t help but feel a little deflated. The happy little bubble I had created for myself in the wilds of the Karoo suddenly seemed far away. That is the problem with fantasies – sooner or later they get punctured and you are back with harsh reality.
Stidy's Eye 