Wednesday, August 22, 2018

The Idler, Thursday, August 23, 2018

Homing pigeon comms

 

A COLLEAGUE returns from a visit to Underberg where he heard the story of a farmer's wife who, in days of yore, would travel to Maritzburg with a homing pigeon in the car with her.

This was in case she had a breakdown. She would then scribble a message telling the folk back on the farm where she was, attach it to the pigeon's leg, then send it on its way. Then she'd wait for the rescue party.

Very sensible too. Telephone points were scarce in those days. No such thing as cellphones.

It recalls the experience of a colleague and friend – the great Africa correspondent Denis Gordon - when Botswana gained independence in 1966. Denis was going to cover the independence ceremony  – but how would he get his material back to Johannesburg? Did the new Botswana have such a thing as a telex machine?

In the protectorate days, the country – then called Bechuanaland – had its capital at Mafeking, in the adjoining Western Transvaal (a great anomaly). But now there was a new capital at Gaborone, which few outsiders had ever visited. Those who had, remembered Gaborone as a tiny little dorp, a one-horse town. Would it have telex links with the outside world?

Denis dropped in at Mafeking to ask the advice of the local postmaster. He too had no idea what telex arrangements might have been made at Gaborone. But he was a pigeon fancier. He lent Denis a crate of homing pigeons.

The arrangement was that Denis would type his despatches, attach them to the leg of a pigeon then send it off. On arrival in Mafeking, the postmaster would have the material telexed to Johannesburg (We Africa hands of those days had an interesting life).

 

But when Denis got to Gaborone, banks of telex machines were in place for the use of the international press, who were there in their droves to cover Botswana independence and the installation as president of Sir Seretse Khama. The Mafeking postmaster received all his pigeons back in a rush as Denis released them all at once.

 

Exclusive gibberish

 

ALL this was, of course, long before the digital age. No communications satellites, no internet. One of the challenges for we Africa correspondents always was to find a telex machine to communicate; also to befriend airline crew and get them to carry spools of film to Johannesburg or Durban.

If a post office was available, we could send what was known as a press telegram. We never thought of pigeons

 

Once I found myself at a place called Vila Luso, in southern Angola. I had just interviewed a Portuguese general who had just concluded a ceasefire with the Unita rebel leader, Jonas Savimbi. And, mirabile dictu, Vila Luso had a post office.

 

I whacked it all out on a press telegram form. Then I watched with concern as a Portuguese operator, who spoke not a word of English, tapped it out on a morse key, to be picked up by another operator in Lisbon – who probably also spoke not a word of English – to tap it out again on another morse key, relaying to Johannesburg.

Sigh! It arrived in Johannesburg as gibberish. My exclusive story never saw the light of day.

A homing pigeon would have been a better bet.

 

New York, New York …

 

THE trials and tribulations of an Africa correspondent. Everyone made a beeline for an outfitter's shop in in the central Angola town of Nova Lisboa, called Nova Yorque. They had a telex machine.

A colleague used this achine to file a detailed analysis of various happenings in Angola, a good piece of work -  sent under the shop's callsign.

 

He got an indignant reponse from his office. "What the heck are you doing in New York?"

 

Moses Mabhida music

 

IAN Gibson, poet laureate of Hillcrest, reflects on my experience of Moses Mabhida Stadium last Friday

 

The Idler visited Mabhida Stadium,

Where the 'music'disturbed his cranium;

Such demonic stuff

Which made thinking tough,

So different from the London Palladium!

 

 

Tailpiece

 

WHAT'S greasy and flaps about church steeples?

 

The lunchpack of Notre Dame.

 

Last word

 

The test of courage comes when we are in the minority. The test of tolerance comes when we are in the majority.

Ralph W. Sockman
 

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