Chapter 11 - Journey to Kasama

We called at the Secretariat and collected papers. We were to proceed to Kasama, Northern Province headquarters and there be directed to our neck of the woods.

In under one hundred miles of uninterrupted bush we reached Broken Hill, a small mining town with the usual 'western' look. There are a fairly large number of railway employees there too, a number of Govt. and tradespeople though most of the latter are Indian. The one hotel seemed to be full of hard drinking types relaxing from a hard working day.

At Kapiri Mposhi forty miles further north, the railway left us to finish in the Copperbelt 90 miles west. Kapiri has only a small hotel, an Indian store and a railway platform, so after a drink and meal we pushed on, the old 'brown arrow' doing valiantly. Our next halt was at Mkushi River where a delightful Rest House drowsed peacefully among flower beds overlooking chuckling little falls in the river. This rest house belonged to the firm of Thatcher and Hobson who had started a transport service years ago, the work being done then by Mr Thatcher and Mr Hobson and one or two other white men, but which had grown rapidly to become the main transport service in the territory.

 They had buses running entirely for Africans and by Africans, buses with natives at the back and one hard upright seat for white people at the front, buses for goods and mail; now they have a scarlet mail bus with it's coat of arms, comfortable front portions in the passenger buses for the Europeans and a regular service to most parts of N.R. Most of the original owners have retired to farm in Tanganyika but the service goes on, taken over by men trained in the business in the U.K. but without the intimate paternal feeling of the originators.

Mkushi River Rest House was mostly for the convenience of bus passengers but anyone could stay there for not more than two days. Natives were in charge and from a cupboard travellers could choose tinned food for the boy to prepare. It was very pleasant and well kept and many people envied it. Now it has become a hotel in the care of a European couple and no doubt even more successful as a bar has been added.

We passed through Mpika where the only obvious building was the Crested Crane Hotel, a wonderful red brick structure with flowering trees and shrubs around, a most friendly sitting room and a host, Mr Marriott rotund as the conventional picture of 'mine host' but with an abrupt manner most disconcerting to the casual traveller. Mr Marriott or A.P. as he is widely known is a most charming man on better acquaintance. He was a Boer War boy, one of the B.S.A. Police, a mining man and now Mpika's land mark. The constant stream of travellers he has seen, the stories he has heard, the boastings, subterfuges, tragedies and celebrations he has witnessed has made him take everything as it comes and with a cautious look. He is the man who won't be taken in, who is tough - but many a kindly act has he done - a traveller short of cash may get a free meal and a bed - a lift in his car for someone broken down on the road - and flowers for his wife's grave in Kasama whenever he goes there. Show him a scrounger or a show-off and his tongue is caustic. We only met him for half an hour on our journey north but we were to get to know him later which was a good thing, for he greeted my husband in the bar 'Well! What do you want?' 'A beer if you don't mind' says my husband and over the quaffing, considerable cautious glaring.

I worked later for Thatcher Hobson as an arrangement between my Father and Mr Thatcher. I travelled on the buses, old Bristol's carrying crowds of Africans and their children and animals and birds..mostly inside.. the stench was apalling and I began smoking then! We spent two nights in African villages between Broken Hill and Kasama each week and I got six doses of malaria in three months. When I resigned Mr Thatcher''s comment was "pity you can't take it.. we did"

A P Marriott had a wonderful line in the 'toilets' which were wooden seats over a pit. On the back of the inside of each door was a 'music stand' arrangement on which you could prop a book and adjust it's distance for you to read in comfort, with a candle in a holder each side.nth century.

 We had a pleasant day, though very dusty and crumpled pushing on for hundreds of miles up the Great North Road which runs from Cape to Cairo and is the only main road in the territory of the northern province. First 76 miles to the Chambesi River.

Only 140 miles to go now and only one river to cross. This was however the Chambesi which has no bridge, but a flat pontoon pulled across by a winch and hawser which the four or five Africans pull on while we get out of the car to watch the grey brown water and hope for a sight of the hippo that live there but they were not to be seen and though I have crossed the Chambesi many times I have never seen one.

Chapter 11 - Journey to Kasama

We called at the Secretariat and collected papers. We were to proceed to Kasama, Northern Province headquarters and there be directed to our neck of the woods.

In under one hundred miles of uninterrupted bush we reached Broken Hill, a small mining town with the usual 'western' look. There are a fairly large number of railway employees there too, a number of Govt. and tradespeople though most of the latter are Indian. The one hotel seemed to be full of hard drinking types relaxing from a hard working day.

At Kapiri Mposhi forty miles further north, the railway left us to finish in the Copperbelt 90 miles west. Kapiri has only a small hotel, an Indian store and a railway platform, so after a drink and meal we pushed on, the old 'brown arrow' doing valiantly. Our next halt was at Mkushi River where a delightful Rest House drowsed peacefully among flower beds overlooking chuckling little falls in the river. This rest house belonged to the firm of Thatcher and Hobson who had started a transport service years ago, the work being done then by Mr Thatcher and Mr Hobson and one or two other white men, but which had grown rapidly to become the main transport service in the territory.

 They had buses running entirely for Africans and by Africans, buses with natives at the back and one hard upright seat for white people at the front, buses for goods and mail; now they have a scarlet mail bus with it's coat of arms, comfortable front portions in the passenger buses for the Europeans and a regular service to most parts of N.R. Most of the original owners have retired to farm in Tanganyika but the service goes on, taken over by men trained in the business in the U.K. but without the intimate paternal feeling of the originators.

Mkushi River Rest House was mostly for the convenience of bus passengers but anyone could stay there for not more than two days. Natives were in charge and from a cupboard travellers could choose tinned food for the boy to prepare. It was very pleasant and well kept and many people envied it. Now it has become a hotel in the care of a European couple and no doubt even more successful as a bar has been added.

We passed through Mpika where the only obvious building was the Crested Crane Hotel, a wonderful red brick structure with flowering trees and shrubs around, a most friendly sitting room and a host, Mr Marriott rotund as the conventional picture of 'mine host' but with an abrupt manner most disconcerting to the casual traveller. Mr Marriott or A.P. as he is widely known is a most charming man on better acquaintance. He was a Boer War boy, one of the B.S.A. Police, a mining man and now Mpika's land mark. The constant stream of travellers he has seen, the stories he has heard, the boastings, subterfuges, tragedies and celebrations he has witnessed has made him take everything as it comes and with a cautious look. He is the man who won't be taken in, who is tough - but many a kindly act has he done - a traveller short of cash may get a free meal and a bed - a lift in his car for someone broken down on the road - and flowers for his wife's grave in Kasama whenever he goes there. Show him a scrounger or a show-off and his tongue is caustic. We only met him for half an hour on our journey north but we were to get to know him later which was a good thing, for he greeted my husband in the bar 'Well! What do you want?' 'A beer if you don't mind' says my husband and over the quaffing, considerable cautious glaring.

I worked later for Thatcher Hobson as an arrangement between my Father and Mr Thatcher. I travelled on the buses, old Bristol's carrying crowds of Africans and their children and animals and birds..mostly inside.. the stench was apalling and I began smoking then! We spent two nights in African villages between Broken Hill and Kasama each week and I got six doses of malaria in three months. When I resigned Mr Thatcher''s comment was "pity you can't take it.. we did"

A P Marriott had a wonderful line in the 'toilets' which were wooden seats over a pit. On the back of the inside of each door was a 'music stand' arrangement on which you could prop a book and adjust it's distance for you to read in comfort, with a candle in a holder each side.nth century.

 We had a pleasant day, though very dusty and crumpled pushing on for hundreds of miles up the Great North Road which runs from Cape to Cairo and is the only main road in the territory of the northern province. First 76 miles to the Chambesi River.

Only 140 miles to go now and only one river to cross. This was however the Chambesi which has no bridge, but a flat pontoon pulled across by a winch and hawser which the four or five Africans pull on while we get out of the car to watch the grey brown water and hope for a sight of the hippo that live there but they were not to be seen and though I have crossed the Chambesi many times I have never seen one.