INTRODUCTION
The issues addressed in this dissertation arise out of the debate about Herman Charles
Bosman’s place in South African literary culture. Bosman writes what Hennie Aucamp aptly
dubbed “camouflaged Afrikaans” (1972: 65; my translation). Although his medium is English,
his perspective is Afrikaans. Bosman imbues his stories with a distinct local colour by using a
rural setting – the Groot Marico district (part of the former Western Transvaal, now North
West Province) with its pastoral Afrikaans-speaking community. Neither they nor Bosman’s
narrator, the wily old raconteur Oom Schalk Lourens, spoke English. They were descendants
of the Voortrekker frontierspeople who, in the nineteenth century, had packed their belongings
onto their wagons, inspanned their oxen and made their way into the interior in order to escape
British imperial rule. Their language, Afrikaans, was a product and a reflection of their simple
life, a creatively pared-down dialect of High Dutch, the florid and out-of-place vernacular of
their European ancestors. Ironically, the Trekkers’ opening up of the hinterland of southern
Africa tempted the British to follow suit, especially after the discovery of gold and diamonds.
Clashes of interest led to the Anglo–Boer wars and the annexation of the independent Boer
Republics.
A ‘joiner’1 writing in English about Voortrekker stock, often from an insider point of
view, is odd and incongruous, on the one hand, and uniquely innovative and intriguing, on the
other. The highly ironical nature of this situation becomes apparent when it is taken into
consideration that some of Bosman’s older characters, such as his storyteller, Oom Schalk,
1
had actually fought in the Boer War and were therefore speaking from first-hand experience.
They still remembered the human suffering wrought by Britain’s scorched-earth policy and
concentration camps. Yet another anomaly arises from the fact that although Bosman was
liberal and leftist in his personal political convictions, he treats his backwater characters with a
unique brand of humour that is full of empathy and understanding. Bosman’s style is actually
chameleon-like. He satirises the Boers – only to make an about-turn to heckle the Brits, often
in the same story! However – and herein lies the singularity of Bosman’s art – his social
commentary, though trenchant, never attempts to moralise or patronise. Instead, it attempts to
convey something essential about the human condition in general. Bosman takes his Marico
milieu as a point of departure – as a microcosm of humankind – and then goes on to confirm
that existential crises, human tribulations and joys are not limited to a specific space or time.
Although Bosman has been accepted and widely read by popular readers who know
him as the Englishman who writes ‘Afrikaans’ in a uniquely humorous manner, his life, art
and the enigma surrounding it have, surprisingly, drawn very little academic attention. Gray
quotes one of Bosman’s contemporaries, the poet and Sunday Times literary reviewer Mary
Morison Webster, as bemoaning this sad and illogical state of affairs in a column published
after Bosman’s death in the November 1957 edition of Forum. She laments the fact that:
Exactly six years have now passed since his sudden and premature death. And
in that short space of time he has tended, to a great degree, to be forgotten.
Even local journalists, when writing about South African literature, omit his
name. And in overseas periodicals, when contemporary writing in South Africa
is up for assessment, Bosman’s absolutely outstanding contribution is never
mentioned. (in Gray 2002: 23)
2
Wavering academic interest, kindled from time to time by Bosman afficionados here and
abroad, unfortunately prevailed until recently. The recent re-publication of Bosman’s writing
in the new Anniversary Edition series, evidently guided by a set of long-term strategies to
resuscitate interest in “Bosman’s absolutely outstanding contribution” (as Webster extolled in
1957), might prove instrumental in turning the situation around. Editors of these collections
have embarked on the painstaking process of ordering and restoring Bosman’s oeuvre in its
entirety. Included in the various Anniversary Editions of Bosman’s work, under the general
editorship of Stephen Gray and Craig MacKenzie, are many pieces that have not previously
been published in book form. Gray and MacKenzie, while stating that developments within
Bosman’s oeuvre cannot be traced strictly chronologically, have attempted to arrange
Bosman’s work chronologically within sequences such as the Oom Schalk and Voorkamer
sequences. Lengthy and insightful introductions to these collections suggest thorough research
and a sincere desire to draw attention to Bosman’s art and his contribution to South African
literature. This structuring of Bosman’s writings not only foregrounds key elements, trends
and developments in his oeuvre, but also re-emphasises deeper dimensions of his character
and work. For example, the collection Old Transvaal Stories, edited by MacKenzie, highlights
the consummate metafictional character of Bosman’s work.
Yet another dimension of Bosman’s art has been brought into sharper focus with the
publication of Bosman’s Afrikaans short stories, poems and essays compiled and edited by
Leon de Kock and published as Verborge Skatte. This publication came as a surprise to many
who had been unaware of the existence of these ‘hidden treasures.’ Two of these stories
appeared in Afrikaans exclusively (in popular periodicals between 1948 and 1952) during
Bosman’s lifetime and shortly after his death, while others were written first in Afrikaans and
3
then translated into English or vice versa. Variations between the English and Afrikaans
stories foreground the fact that these stories are not mere translations, but that Bosman was
indeed aware of the need to adapt and to make emphasis and cultural shifts when moving
between mediums and cultures. The issue of Bosman’s own cultural identity, however, begs
many questions.
Why did Bosman, at a frantically busy time of his life when he already had found a
niche for his English writing, move to bilingual writing (at the same time that he was holding
down a permanent job and submitting regular contributions to various publications)? This
issue is addressed in Chapter 1. It is necessary to examine corresponding events in Bosman’s
personal life in order to put forward possible motivations. Views expressed by Bosman in his
essays and polemical writings about Afrikaans writers and their work produce illuminating
evidence with regard to his calling to write Afrikaans. It is common knowledge that Bosman
was not recognised by the Afrikaans literary establishment. Fortunately, an author’s
contribution is measured over time and this means that concurrent paradigm shifts in critical
attitudes often result in more objective retrospective views. This, in turn, clears the way for a
possible revaluation of a writer’s position in the canon. In Bosman’s case, the abolishment of
racial segregation has prepared the way for the broad South Africanism that he had always
envisioned. Politically driven censorship has disappeared from South African law statutes and
many previously marginalised writers are now afforded a chance to claim their place among
canonical writers. However, no revaluation or, specifically, a claim to bilingual status is
possible until Bosman’s Afrikaans corpus has been examined in order to ascertain beyond any
reasonable doubt whether it indeed has literary merit.
4
A large degree of consensus exists among Bosman’s commentators about the unique
way that he deals with language and culture, and that misconceptions surrounding his work
based on its outward simplicity and the rather lowly status of the short story genre at the time
have contributed to Bosman’s peripheral status in South African literature. Chapter 2 proposes
that Bosman’s Afrikaans corpus, though slender, gives an entirely new twist to questions of
culture, identity and language in his short story oeuvre. In order to arrive at convincing
conclusions about Bosman’s rightful place in South African literature, the bilingual dimension
of his work is analysed and issues pertaining to it addressed.
The next question requires, firstly, a focus on Bosman’s success as an English writer.
What are the qualities that have earned his short story corpus popular as well as literary
acclaim? In order to arrive at an answer to this question, Chapter 3 examines the writing style
that has brought Bosman success in English. In his Afrikaans short stories Bosman employs
all the hallmarks of his distinctive comic narrative style: Oom Schalk as his mouthpiece (in
most of the stories), satire, irony, twist-in-the-tail endings and so forth. It seems logical,
therefore, to analyse the storytelling formula responsible for the popularity and success of
Bosman’s Oom Schalk stories. This will provide the basis for a comparison with the Afrikaans
equivalents, and will allow an assessment of how they measure up.
In Chapter 4, the core of this study, a comparative analysis of a selection of these
stories and their English equivalents is conducted in order to evaluate the literary merit of the
Afrikaans stories. The focus falls on key elements of Bosman’s style such as irony, satire and
humour. Language has an important literary effect and therefore the thorny issue of Bosman’s
less-than-perfect Afrikaans grammar and the possible negative impact of this on the literary
quality of the stories is addressed as well. The question whether, what the contemporary
5
reader might regard as slightly awkward Afrikaans, is redeemable against, what De Kock
(2001: 210) dubs Bosman’s “return home”, is a contentious one. To put the language question
differently: does the fact that we now have authentic Bosman in Afrikaans coupled with the
possibility that it fills a gap in the Afrikaans short story genre save these stories from their
apparent linguistic shortcomings? In the actual discussion and comparison of some of
Bosman’s short stories, his success as a bilingual writer is probed in order to determine
whether his Afrikaans short story corpus, though slim, has what it takes to stand on its own.
Another issue is whether Bosman has made the necessary cultural adjustments when writing in
a different language; and if so, how?
6
CHAPTER ONE
Bosman’s Move to Bilingual Writing
In her essay “The Rooinek Writes South African: Herman Charles Bosman’s Experiments in
Bilingual Writing”, Irmgard Schopen touches on a possible reason for Bosman’s
marginalisation. She argues that “[he was] at certain times […] simply out of contact with the
mainstream of South African life” (1991: 25). This was a result of his almost four-year
imprisonment (from November 1926 to 15 August 1930) for the murder of his stepbrother as
well as his sojourn in Europe (six years) from 1934 to 1940. She states further that:
He missed the first volumes of poetry by the new generation of Afrikaans poets
– N. P. Van Wyk Louw and Elisabeth Eybers. He also missed the
Broederbond’s strengthening of Afrikaner nationalism, through the ‘cultural’
means of the FAK, the ATKV, and the politically orchestrated centenary
celebrations of the Great Trek in 1938. These events did not impinge on
Bosman’s consciousness at the time, but had a crucial effect on his later career
and on his reception. […] It was only after his return to South Africa that
Bosman suddenly began to read Afrikaans literature, encouraged by his third
wife […]” (1991: 27)
Bosman’s intense and prolific bilingual period (1948–1951) was preceded by his
romantic involvement with and marriage to Helena Stegmann, an Afrikaans teacher at a local
school in Pietersburg, where Bosman was employed as editor of the Zoutpansberg Review.
Valerie Rosenberg remarks as follows about the re-awakening of Bosman’s Afrikaans spirit:
7
“When Bosman met Helena he found himself confronted with an identity he had never quite
known what to do with. Here, for the first time, was someone who compelled him to reassess
himself as an Afrikaner whose family had sided with the British in the Anglo–Boer War”
(1991: 152). Rosenberg recounts how Bosman’s Afrikaans had fallen into disuse after his
prison years, when he was married to Ellaleen Manson and during the couple’s stay in Europe,
and that “Herman Bosman’s reaffirmation of his Afrikanerdom was more the result of an
overwhelming rediscovery after years spent in a nationality vacuum. Helena’s lay in a sense of
identity so woven into the fabric of her life that it had never been an issue […]” (1991: 153).
Helena not only helped Bosman to dust off his rusty Afrikaans, but also introduced him to
Afrikaans literature. When she presented him with N. P. Van Wyk Louw’s poetry, he was
quick to reject it as too intellectual. He then gave her his own poetry to read and she, in turn,
regarded it as too esoteric. One can only imagine her surprise when she read his first Marico
stories.
Bosman’s involvement with Helena marked a productive phase in his life and there can
be no doubt that she had a lot to do with the fervour with which he re-applied himself to
writing in his almost-forgotten mother tongue. During this time Bosman was appointed
literary editor of the revived The South African Opinion. A movement in Afrikaans literature
called the “Dertigers” (literary movement of the 1930s) remained an important influence.
Rosenberg states: “Bosman was to return again and again to this subject, which fascinated
him. With a new-found delight in Afrikaans, he and Helena spoke the language in their home
so that he could reacquaint himself with the vernacular and equip himself for a more accurate
assessment of the development that had taken place during his absence in Europe, as well as of
the fresh discoveries that awaited him” (1991: 167).
8
Schopen’s translation of his essay, “Die Duistere Vers: ‘Kuns’ of ‘Wiskunde’”
provides a useful insight into Bosman’s state of mind at the time. He informs his reader that:
I spent the ten years preceding the early war years in Europe. I mention this
fact to allow the reader to understand very clearly what a tremendous impact
my renewed acquaintance with Afrikaans literature made on me. When I left
South Africa, Afrikaans poetry was represented by Totius, Leipoldt, A. G.
Visser, Jan F. Cilliers and others. When I returned, N. P. Van Wyk Louw was
there, and a school of modern poets. (1991: 28)
The new indigenous culture that was developing filled Bosman with excitement that
was bound to find an artistic outlet in the immediate future. In an article, “Aspects of South
African Literature”, he suggests that Afrikaans literature should renounce its European links
and strive to acquire an authentic African character for itself. In this vein he explains that
English literature takes a back seat to Afrikaans because:
The Afrikaner accepts himself as part of Africa. Out of his own traditions and
history and background, out of the stones and the soil and the red guts of
Africa, he is fashioning a literature that has not reached a very high
inspirational level – let us make no mistake about that – but that has struck an
authentic note, somehow, and that you can feel has got a power in it that must
become an enduring part of the Afrikaner’s national heritage. (1981b: 101)
Observations such as these clearly demonstrate Bosman’s excitement at discovering that the
origins as well as the sound of Afrikaans chimed perfectly with his notion of African
Romanticism. It is a language that had sprung from the soil of Africa and embodied its spirit
and that of its people. In his article “Afrikaans and the Latest Novel of Professor V. D.
9
Heever”, an English writer, E. V. Swart, reviewed C. M. Van den Heever’s seminal novel
Somer and extolled (in somewhat exaggerated manner) those same virtues of the Afrikaans
language that enthused Bosman. Swart observed that:
A writer using Afrikaans as medium is using a fortunate medium. Words in
Afrikaans are still predominantly simple, that is, they still stand singly and
directly for the concrete content from which they are derived. Little or no
abstraction, dislocation between the word as symbol and the experience for
which it stands, has happened. And this for the writer is a very significant fact.
It means that the habit of his language is actually the habit of good writing, […]
Afrikaans is still obeying the creative laws of language. The meaning of [Van
den Heever’s] words is austere and luminous because they happen to be
derived from a process of language which is as yet unmixed and undistorted in
its associations. (1936: 18)
Bosman’s position as literary editor of The South African Opinion compelled him to
reflect on South African literature and to produce meaningful commentary. Having discovered
new avenues of literary discovery in Afrikaans, he rose to the occasion with aplomb. He
enthusiastically – if somewhat patronisingly – launched himself into constructively critical and
polemical commentary about Afrikaans literature. These critical pieces2 are steeped in
typically Bosmanesque irreverence and disregard for holy cows – apparently because Bosman
sincerely felt that he had something to say to the new Afrikaans literati with regard to possible
future directions: that is, how to avoid a path of self-aggrandisement based on an attitude of
accepting Afrikaans writing as good, simply because it is Afrikaans.
It is understandable that Bosman had been carried away by the euphoria of these years
– he was in love with Helena and his long-forgotten mother tongue. The extent of his
10
inspirational zeal is evident in an interview with Die Brandwag (16 April 1948: 7)
accompanying the very first publication of his Afrikaans short story “Dit Spook by die Drif.”
The interviewer, signing only his initials, F. P., sings Bosman’s praises thus:
Nadat ek hierdie bundel kortverhale [the recently published Mafeking Road]
gelees het, was ek van een ding baie helder bewus, naamlik dat ons hier te doen
het met ’n genie wat hom in die toekoms al hoe sterker sal laat geld. Hoewel hy
in Engels skryf, wys Bosman die rigting aan wat na die ware hoogtes lei. Ons
mag hom nie verontagsaam nie.
Schopen voices her skepticism about this interview, describing it as “extraordinary in
its mixture of patronization and adulation”, and questions Bosman’s involvement with a
mainstream publication such as Die Brandwag because “[it] runs contrary to everything for
which Bosman stood” (1991: 31). (Another eminent periodical, Die Ruiter, had published
“Die Voorval by Ijzerspruit” two weeks previously.)
Little evidence has been adduced to explain why Bosman had chosen to publish his
first Afrikaans short stories in Afrikaner Nationalist mouthpieces, Die Ruiter and Die
Brandwag, or why he elected soon afterwards to continue his bilingual publishing stint at the
much smaller bilingual On Parade. It is possible that he had been overwhelmed by the
recognition that he enjoyed after his Die Ruiter and Die Brandwag publications and was
tempted to join the fold of mainstream Afrikaans writers. Perhaps his friend and soulmate,
Ehrhardt Planjé, editor of On Parade, persuaded him against prostituting his work to
periodicals with an Afrikaner Nationalist bias. One may embark on lengthy speculation on this
matter, yet everything remains conjecture. Rosenberg is not much help in this respect, and
neither are the other two Bosman biographers.3 A study of his texts, however, suggests a
11
possible explanation: Bosman’s polemical pieces demonstrate quite clearly that he (as writer,
journalist and editor) feels empowered to criticise the Afrikaans literati and their work. This,
in all likelihood, means that he would not have taken kindly to heavy-handed editing of his
own writing; and this seems what Die Ruiter and Die Brandwag had undertaken. (This point is
further elaborated on in Chapter 4.) In other words, if Bosman had had any reservations,
political or otherwise, about writing for these periodicals, an overly intellectual and purist
approach to his own writing by Afrikaans editors would have made up his mind.
Speculations aside, it should be borne in mind that the luxury of ‘normality’ was never
an option for Bosman who, after he was released from prison, must have viewed life with a
deep sense of unreality. He was a troubled soul looking at life differently, trying to come to
terms with his sorrow behind a facade of humour. Lionel Abrahams, Bosman’s friend and
protégé, became acquainted with what he calls Bosman’s “dark complexities and painful
complications” (1999:18). In this regard he observes: “I have hinted at shifting phases in
Bosman’s way of life over time and the possibility of inconsistencies between the attitudes he
displayed at various stages. These were inevitable outcomes of his volatility, imaginative
vitality and irrepressible humour” (1999: 18; my emphasis).
Whatever Bosman’s reasons for turning to On Parade, there is little doubt that he
felt very much at home there: On Parade published and republished much of his bilingual
work up to his death in 1951 (see appendix). The political idealism and human benevolence
reflected in Planjé’s mission statement in On Parade is so similar to Bosman’s own egalitarian
world-view that it might have been written by him. Planjé’s credo reads as follows:
To avoid possible misunderstanding and misrepresentation the proprietors
and publishers of On Parade wish to state that this paper is not sponsored or
12
controlled by any political party, but is an independent publication with the
following objectives:
1) To foster goodwill between all sections within the Union of South
Africa and friendly relations with all the nations that subscribe to the
principles of the Atlantic Charter.
2) To combat racialism and sectionalism in every shape or form.
3) To watch any infringement of democratic rights of any groups of
our population and fearlessly expose such actions.
4) To advocate progressive economic and industrial policy.
(in Schopen 1991:31)
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CHAPTER TWO
The Cultural Dilemma of Bosman’s Afrikaans Writing
The issue of Bosman’s bilingualism is part of what Stephen Gray, in his introduction to
Herman Charles Bosman, refers to as a “problem case.” He goes on to say that: “The ‘Bosman
problem’ is worth posing, and worth trying to solve; it is at the core of a South African
cultural dilemma which involves far more than the life and works of Herman Charles Bosman,
inexhaustibly rich and fascinating though those may be” (1986: 25). Gray explains that many
academic prejudices still prevail and that “Bosman’s situation is further complicated by his
being an Afrikaner writing (mostly) in English; hence he is even less studied by Afrikaans
academics, who are disinclined to accept the previously quite common notion that a writer
could be bilingual” (31; my emphasis).
Bosman has received little recognition and attention as a bilingual writer and when
one tries to pinpoint reasons, it appears that socio-political issues may indeed lie at the heart of
this problem. In this regard, the mild surprise with which the Afrikaans literary establishment
received the Verborge Skatte collection is telling indeed. Louise Viljoen’s review of the
collection is titled “Herman C. Bosman Verras” (2001: 11). After reviewing the collection in
glowingly complimentary terms, she concludes that it would seem that Bosman is a far more
nuanced figure than was initially suspected. L. S. Venter, in his review in Beeld titled
“Afrikaanse Bosman Inderdaad ’n Skat”, notes that Verborge Skatte reveals a surprising facet
of the English South African writer Herman Charles Bosman. He marvels at the almost
14
“onverstaanbare” fact that these short stories have disappeared from the attention of Afrikaans
readers as well as literary historiography. In this respect he states that:
Die andersins so deeglike J. C. Kannemeyer staan in sy omvattende
literatuurgeskiedenis so ’n vyftal woorde aan Bosman af, maar lig nie die feit
uit dat van die Schalk Lourens verhale in Afrikaans geskryf was nie. Die
belang van hierdie literatuurhistoriese feit gaan kennelik volkome aan hom
verby. (2001: 9; my emphasis)
Venter concludes his positive review with a rap over the knuckles of the Afrikaans literary
establishment. He states that: “Behalwe leesplesier aan die gewone leser bevat Verborge
Skatte ook ’n teregwysing aan die Afrikaanse literêre kritiek” (9).
Notwithstanding the sad reality of Bosman’s marginalisation by Afrikaans literary
historiographers, one cannot ignore strong indications that there is another side to this
complicated matter. It appears to be somewhat unfair to lay the ‘blame’ at the door of the
Afrikaans literary establishment only. Stephanie Nieuwoudt, in her review in Beeld, “Bosman
ook in Afrikaans” (2001: 9) points to the possibility that, although the Afrikaans literary elite
had indeed ignored Bosman, he had also deliberately distanced himself from them. In this
regard, De Kock states that the value of Bosman’s work, ironically, lies precisely in the fact
that Bosman was the only Afrikaans writer who stood outside the “Afrikaner Nationalist
project” (2001: 196). As mentioned, Bosman published aggressively polemical critiques of the
‘Dertiger’ literature and its proponents Van Wyk Louw, Eybers, Krige and others. He
criticised them for their academic bias and for proposing a literature exclusive to intellectuals.
He also rejected the ideological basis of Afrikaans literature and instead advocated a broad
South Africanism based on liberal and non-hegemonic principles. This, then, may suggest why
15
Bosman, having published his first two Afrikaans short stories in popular magazines (Die
Brandwag and Die Ruiter), opted to move out of the limelight into near-obscurity with his
friend, Ehrhardt Planjé, editor of the smaller bilingual, liberal periodical Op/On Parade where
the rest of his Afrikaans stories were published. Die Brandwag and Die Ruiter, owned by Die
Afrikaanse Pers Beperk, reflected the National Party affiliations of its editorship. It is
particularly significant that Bosman, who was financially hard-pressed at the time, seems to
have voluntarily relinquished prospects of popular acclaim through these mainstream
magazines. In this regard Irmgard Schopen notes:
Seen in conjunction with his essays of the time, his rejection of any identity
bound by language is clear. His return to Afrikaans after a lifetime of so-called
‘deracination’ was an embracing of a South African identity which went
beyond the artificial barriers thrown up by the government of the day. Such an
identity, in his opinion, was essential for bridging the vast gaps between the
people of South Africa. (1991: 32)
De Kock deliberates on Bosman’s cultural identity as follows:
[Bosman’s] linguistic proficiency meant that [he] was better able to play out his
role as a border figure, since he could more easily move in and out of the
prevailing discourses of power and culture. […] Bosman was an outsider with
regard to prevailing cultural beliefs – he often protested against Eurocentrism,
in both English and Afrikaans, and against other forms of incipient apartheid.
Instead, he proposed a sort of ‘Malay’ earthiness and a working class idiom.
(2001: 201)
Ehrhardt Planjé was the first to call for recognition of Bosman’s bilingual talents. In his
obituary of Bosman published in On Parade he argued that “Bosman was a rare example
16
of a thoroughly bilingual writer. […] He belongs to a small select group of writers such as Uys
Krige, Leipoldt and Langenhoven. […] One could advance many possible reasons [for the
lack of recognition for Bosman’s Afrikaans work.] The main reason could be that Bosman
constantly refused to idealise his Boer characters. His view was always ironic and it would
seem that the Afrikaner reading public was hardly ready for it” (1951:8; my translation).
Planjé was a voice in the wilderness, almost completely unheeded for some forty years,
until 1991 when Irmgard Schopen published her paper “The Rooinek Writes South African:
Herman Charles Bosman’s Experiments in Bilingual Writing.” Although her essay is not an
in-depth study of Bosman’s bilingual writing as such, she highlights the literary and cultural
importance of the uniquely progressive quality, the unconventional outsider/border-figure
dimension of his bilingual talents in the South African context.
This progressive quality of Bosman’s Afrikaans stories stands out strikingly in a
comparison with his contemporaries’ writing. Even a cursory reading of any important
Afrikaans fiction of the time will reveal that Afrikaans writers’ view of the Afrikaner and his
milieu was significantly different from Bosman’s. Authors of the so-called traditional
‘plaasroman’ (farm novel) such as Van Melle and Van den Heever mythologised aspects of
the Afrikaner frontier tradition. H. P. Van Coller lists these ‘plaasroman’ hallmarks in his
essay “Die Afrikaanse Plaasroman as Ideologiese Refleksie van die Politieke en Sosiale
Werklikheid in Suid-Afrika” (The ‘plaasroman’ as ideological reflection of the political and
social reality in South Africa) as follows: a patriarchal society where not only the father figure
dominates but also associated patriarchal values such as traditions and the traditional; the
transient nature of man’s existence on earth and his co-existence with and dependence on
nature and its cycles; the motif of heredity and lineage symbolised by graves, family portraits,
17
heirlooms, farmhouses and plantations (the interesting manner in which Bosman deals with
these mythical symbols is discussed in Chapter 4); women as idealised mother figures and
frontier women on the one hand and serving Marthas and procreators on the other (1995: 24;
my translation). Incidentally, according to Van Coller, sexuality in these ‘plaasromans’ is not
portrayed as something natural and earthy but rather in an oblique and obscure manner. He
goes on to say that roles are clearly defined in this type of hierarchy. Consequently, idealistic
dreamer types, who do not fit the stereotypical template, are not tolerated. The traditional man,
on the other hand, is placed on a pedestal: there are no chinks in his armour; he is a man of
mettle, masculine, principled and hard working – a tower of strength respected and revered by
his family and community.
While Bosman’s Marico stories attest to his insistence on verisimilitude in fiction, he
simultaneously deconstructs the mythical pillars of the ‘plaasroman.’ Idealised notions of
frontier tradition are exposed for the illusions that they are. Laziness, hypocrisy, religious
bigotry, child abuse and miscegenation are revealed to be rampant beneath the polished
surface of pastoral life. It is not surprising, therefore, that Afrikaans readers have preferred
instead to encounter Bosman’s satirical angle on these themes across the distance of the
English medium. Bosman, nevertheless, always maintains that the farm is a universal space as
MacKenzie states:
Bosman’s point […] is that, while our material contexts may change through
time, there is something constant (and endearing) in human foibles and follies.
It is as if his characters are resigned to take their place in the ineluctable cycles
promised by God to Noah after the flood: “While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night
shall not cease” (Genesis 8:22). (2002b: 18)
18
At this point it may be useful to consider Bosman’s narrative style and to analyse the
storytelling formula through which he achieved recognition in South African English literature
and thereafter to examine how these elements were transposed to the Afrikaans medium.
19
CHAPTER THREE
Bosman’s Art
3.1 The Oral Tradition
As mentioned, Bosman’s English short story corpus has achieved overwhelming popular
success as well as literary acclaim. This is mainly due to the artful manner in which he has
wrought a unique literary style out of an ancient narrative tradition. Oral-style storytelling has
a venerable tradition in South African culture. Frontiersmen shared this tradition with
indigenous peoples who handed down traditions and ancestral wisdom from one generation to
the next around village fires. Transport drivers, hunters, adventure-seekers and immigrants
soon developed their own brand of fireside storytelling and gradually a new genre developed
out of this culture of hunting yarns, ghost and veld stories. Its components are simple. At the
centre was a typical raconteur, seasoned and weathered by his experiences, who sought to
captivate his audience – if only by dint of the ‘tall’ nature of his tales. His listeners, often
consisting of greenhorn adventure-seekers, were only too happy to indulge their host, not only
because he helped pass the lonely hours but also because of an acute awareness that survival
in the African bush depended greatly on learning from those who had gone before you – those
fearless trailblazers who had tamed the wild frontier and, in the course of their adventures,
accumulated a rich store of wonderful tales. For, although these stories were richly
20
embellished to make them interesting and awe-inspiring, they often contained a kernel of
truth.
It is out of this rich tradition that Bosman fashioned a narrative style that placed him in
a class of his own in early twentieth-century South African literature. Earlier practitioners of
the oral-style story in South Africa included W. C. Scully, Percy FitzPatrick and Ernest
Glanville, as well as Afrikaans writers such as C. Louis Leipoldt, Jan F.E Cilliers and J. Van
Melle. These writers were master storytellers, but wrote in a distinctly different style. In most
of their stories an authorial narrator recounts his experiences in a richly textured and selfcongratulatory manner. These are amazing stories of the hunt, the veld, wars, ghosts and many
other deeply touching and memorable aspects of the white man’s contact with Africa. As such
they form an inextricable and invaluable part of South African cultural heritage and in this
context they should never be undervalued. Yet, the literary qualities of these stories are
limited. They are mostly artless tales of adventure that undoubtedly touch the reader’s
imagination, yet do not offer much more. These stories are also often unashamedly racist –
and this reflects the socio-political realities of a troubled colonial era.
Bosman, on the other hand, clothed this age-old genre in a very different garb. The
difference between his and his contemporaries’ rendition of the fireside story lies in the way
that he has succeeded in blending a deceptive simplicity of style with post-modern artfulness,
thus producing short stories that are unprecedented not only in entertainment value and
humour, but also in their pervasive self-reflexiveness and depth of human understanding.
Bosman’s playful narrative style is designed first and foremost to entertain and to make the
reader chuckle. He taunts, satirises, rides roughshod over conventions and prods at the
21
pretensions of society, only to change gear and lay bare the deeply poignant, universally
human aspects of a situation.
3.2 Bosman’s Oom Schalk Lourens Stories
The distinctive frame structure of Bosman’s Oom Schalk Lourens stories has often been the
focus of literary discussion. It is generally agreed that the success with which Bosman
explored the vast possibilities of this narrative technique for humorous ironic and satirical
commentary in addition to fully utilising its exceptional predisposition for literary selfreflexivity puts him in a class above and beyond his contemporaries in South African
literature. The manner in which Bosman establishes ironic interaction between himself as
implied author and his seemingly unreliable mouthpiece, Oom Schalk Lourens, as his narrator,
has proven him a master of this narrative style. However, the implicit ironic relationship
between author and narrator is by no means a simple and straightforward matter. The fact that,
in the course of a single story, the author’s attitude (and that of the reader who associates with
him) towards the wayward Oom Schalk may fluctuate between consenting cameraderie and
glint-in-the-eye amusement to disapproving dissociation and repudiation makes for highly
entertaining and thought-provoking reading matter. The inherent ambiguity of Oom Schalk’s
character evolves from the manner in which he operates on many levels of these stories; and
for this reason he is not the one-dimensional caricature that the reader may initially suspect
him to be. He can be an openly lying racist and callous old hypocrite – only to surprise the
reader with flashes of sensitivity and empathetic insight into the deepest psyche of his fellow
22
human beings, be they black or white. Just when the reader feels convinced that he is an
illiterate, uncouth ‘takhaar’, he quotes from Eugene Marais’s “Winternag” in the most erudite
manner. The reader’s patronising attitude towards Oom Schalk now ironically doubles back on
itself and s/he (the reader) becomes the butt of the joke.
Most of the English versions of Bosman’s Oom Schalk Lourens stories are well known
and popular. Over the years they have been published in collections such as Mafeking Road,
Unto Dust and Almost Forgotten Stories. It is, therefore, small wonder that contemporary
readers are surprised to discover that some of these stories were first published (and possibly
also first written) in Afrikaans. Also, no English versions have been traced of “My Eerste
Liefde” and “Die Kaffertamboer.” Lionel Abrahams translated these two stories and included
them in his Unto Dust collection. Abrahams, however, did not translate “Die Kaffertamboer”
literally but drew on a similar English story by Bosman titled “Bush Telegraph.” All the other
stories have English equivalents written by Bosman himself and they are all, with the
exception of “Die Voorval by Ijzerspruit”, Oom Schalk Lourens stories.4
The logical next step is to examine how the Afrikaans Oom Schalk Lourens stories
compare to their privileged English counterparts and to determine whether there is any
justification for claims to Bosman’s bilingual status. In short: do these stories work in
Afrikaans?
23
CHAPTER FOUR
The Effect of Writing Afrikaans on Key Elements of Bosman’s Style
Questions arising when comparing Bosman’s English and Afrikaans Oom Schalk stories are
the following: how much of the success of the English stories depends on the fact that an
English-speaking authorial agency creates a distancing effect, thus creating ‘space’ for ironic
commentary and interaction between author and narrator? Conversely, does ironic
commentary not, perhaps, become more effective when there is common ground and
understanding between author and narrator on the one hand, and narrator and reader on the
other? What happens to the satirical effect when satire (in Afrikaans) comes closer to home
and how differently does the satirical impact figure in the historical and socio-political
contexts of 1948 and 2002 respectively? Does the fact that these stories are variations and not
literal translations suggest that Bosman has made adjustments to forestall possible problems
and that, like a true bilingual author, he shows a definite feel for the peculiar character and
nuances of a language? In other words, does he know how to move seamlessly between
cultures and languages? And what about language? Does Bosman write sufficiently
idiomatically to claim proficiency in Afrikaans? In sum: what happens to Bosman’s distinctive
narrative formula when it is transposed to the Afrikaans medium?
In order to clarify some of these issues, a careful scrutiny of the key elements of
Bosman’s style is called for. The impact of Bosman’s writerly technique is due in large
measure to the skilful manner in which he manipulates stylistic devices such as irony and
satire to interact and converge towards a singular effect. For example, satire coupled with an
24
ironic tone acquires – in a manner of speaking – extra punch. Likewise, Bosman’s trademark
humour often emanates from a potent mix of satire and irony. This relationship between irony
and satire has been theorised by many commentators. Frye (in Johl 1988: 46) dubs satire
“militant irony.” Pollard (in Johl 1988: 46) states that irony is the tone of the satirical
spectrum. Johl (1988: 46–47) emphasises the indirect manner in which both irony and satire
communicate. Both work through subtle suggestion and require the reader to engage in a
creative unravelling of signs. Whereas satire is socially oriented, irony has a social and
aesthetic effect. Furst elaborates this distinction as follows:
Nor is irony necessarily equivocal in its moral stance; in making
discriminations between appearance and reality, false and true values, it too
derives from moral and social judgements, though not with the wholehearted
assertiveness of satire. Morally the ironist is conscious simultaneously of
standards and of their shortcomings. But artistically he must neither falter not
waver; he must have the control to embody his binary vision in the appropriate
aesthetic form. (in Johl 1988: 53)
As a seasoned ironist, Bosman’s main concern has always been aesthetic form rather than
content – how, rather than what is said. Bosman’s view is always ironic, whether he is holding
up society for satirical scrutiny, raising raucous laughter in the most slapstick manner or
eliciting emotion at a poignant and deeply moving juncture of a story. Bosman’s is actually an
ironic worldview in which life, its contradictions, unpredictability, self-ironising and
destabilising propensities are contained.
25
4.1 Irony
The very nature of irony – the play of masks, delusion and illusion and the infinite deferment
of the move of irony – renders it something that defies (and ironises) definition. Theories and
aspects of theories of irony may be discussed, but the essence of it eludes classification. It is,
therefore, with a measure of care that a discussion of this trope/ existential modus is
approached and, in particular, Bosman’s extraordinary and (apparently) easy relationship with
it – a relationship that, on its own, provides ample material for an independent study.
Fowler focuses on what he labels the “double audience” of irony. He notes that:
Irony is a form of utterance that postulates a double audience, consisting of one
party that hearing shall hear and shall not understand, and another party that,
when more is meant than meets the ear, is aware both of that more and of the
outsider’s incomprehension. [It] may be defined as the use of words intended
to convey one meaning to the uninitiated part of the audience and another to
the initiated, the delight of it lying in the secret intimacy set up between the
latter and the speaker. (1965: 303-306)
With regard to the use and function of irony in literature and, specifically, the
interaction between author and reader, D. J. Amante states the following: “Knowledge of the
social system, manners, principles governing conversations, shared background and
knowledge of speech acts all contribute to our awareness of irony” (1981: 80). Clark and
Gerrig postulate that:
A listener’s understanding of an ironic utterance depends crucially on the
common ground he or she believes is shared by the ironist and the audience –
26
their mutual beliefs, mutual knowledge, and mutual suppositions [….]
Listeners must see how the speaker’s utterance is relevant to the common
ground already established between the speaker and the addressees. If they
cannot, they may be able to discover the pretense. (1984: 124-125)
It is within the parameters of these theoretical models that, when comparing Bosman’s
Afrikaans stories with their English versions, various structural emphasis shifts and different
figurations become apparent. Bosman’s frame device (discussed in Chapter 3) utilised in the
Oom Schalk sequence fits Fowler’s definition. In the English stories it plays itself out almost
exactly as defined. A certain intimacy between the supposedly more sophisticated English
reader and Bosman creates an ironic distance from the uncouth Oom Schalk. (However, as
mentioned, Oom Schalk’s persona is more intricate and multi-faceted than may appear on the
surface.) In the case of the Afrikaans stories, the 1940s’ reader, from the moment that s/he
discovers her/himself to be the target of Bosman’s satire, would, presumably, have been
reluctant to enter into an ironic double-audience pact with him. It is indeed ironic that, in
framing the Afrikaans short stories in the same way as their English equivalents, Bosman
implicitly made assumptions about the maturity and objective distance of his Afrikaans reader
– assumptions that were not always received as a compliment. The heightened ‘effectiveness’
of his irony in Afrikaans turns out, in some cases, to be too effective for comfort. Although
Bosman was not the kind of writer who would flinch at negative reactions to his work and
consequently compromise his position, there are clear indications that he knew exactly
how far he could go. (The interesting manner in which Bosman counters the punch of his
irony in Afrikaans, particularly in his Boer War stories, is discussed later.)
De Kock’s views on the effect of the medium of Afrikaans on the ironic dimension of
Bosman’s stories support these propositions. He suggests that the “distancing effect”
27
disappears when Bosman’s material is given the ironic treatment in Afrikaans (2001: 210).
Therefore, he says, “The Afrikaans stories are sometimes far more painful to read than their
English counterparts” (210). It seems that these stories have ‘come home’ in their Afrikaans
medium. This interesting literary phenomenon, however, raises a number of critical issues
around Bosman’s distinctive style. In the case of the Afrikaans stories common ground exists
not only between the Afrikaans narrator (Oom Schalk) and Afrikaans characters (his audience)
in a typical Afrikaner setting (the Marico), but also between them and the Afrikaans reader –
and this relationship supposedly makes ironic utterances more effective. However, this
common ground is at variance with the positioning of the respective parties (narrator,
characters and readers) in the case of the English stories.5
In the course of the analyses that follow it will become clear that, in Bosman’s case,
the issue of writing Afrikaans is no simple matter: not only does it involve the normal
consequences of a move from one linguistic medium to another, but also the other reality
concerning Bosman’s Afrikaans stories – their very first publication in book form in a
radically different historical and political context in 2001. This carries the implication of a
different decoding of Bosman’s Afrikaans stories by contemporary Afrikaans readers. As a
result of radical changes in the socio-political and economic spheres in South Africa, the
Afrikaner has undergone unparalleled metamorphoses since the 1940s. Economic and
technological developments, urbanisation, the information boom and the creation of a
heterogeneous society in a democratic dispensation have produced a type of readership that is
profoundly different from Bosman’s target reader back in the 1940s. In any revaluation of
Bosman’s work in a different historical context, it is important to remember that an ongoing
discussion between readers and texts will perforce lead to paradigm shifts in this relationship.
28
The new text, according to Vincent B. Leitch (1983: 119), breaks through the boundaries of
the old text and changes the identity of the text and the reader is also forced to rethink his/her
perceptions about the text. In other words, the text’s conceptualisation is extended. These
points are particularly relevant to Bosman’s texts because they contain the implication that his
work may attract renewed appreciation and revaluation.
Bosman embarked on the challenging project of writing Afrikaans at a busy time of his
life when his English writing had already earned recognition. He was also at the disadvantage
of being less proficient in Afrikaans. All of this testifies to the sincerity of his wish to connect
with his Afrikaans reader. The enthusiasm with which he engages with controversial themes
such as racism, religious bigotry and treason not only shows his eagerness at drawing
appropriate responses from his Afrikaans reader, but also establishes him as one of the most
progressive writers of his time in Afrikaans literature.
However, notwithstanding the fact that Bosman’s work was ahead of its time and that
his irony may have been too strong for his Afrikaans readership, one cannot but entertain a
nagging suspicion that the apparent lack of appreciation for his work may not have been
rooted in the punch of his irony at all, but in the sad reality that an elegant collection such as
Verborge Skatte was not available at the time. If Bosman’s Afrikaans short stories had not
been scattered all over miscellaneous publications, if themes and developments within his
Afrikaans corpus could have been traced and appreciated in in a coherent and unified
perspective by the Afrikaner reader (who, perhaps, deserves more credit), who knows what the
outcome might have been.
29
4.2 Satire
A sentence-by-sentence comparison of Bosman’s Afrikaans stories and their English
counterparts reveals many points of interest. The most obvious are the many surface
differences such as different titles (see appendix), revisions and adaptations in the form of
omissions and insertions of sentences and paragraphs. Upon closer inspection, it becomes
clear that these changes are significant in that they create certain effects within the stories. The
most important of these effects is satirical. Sometimes, the satirical effect is softened and
sometimes the social commentary is rendered more caustic. Moreover, there seems to be a
connection between the subject matter of the stories and the degree to which Bosman turns on
or tones down his satire. A comparison of the English and Afrikaans Boer War stories reveals
an acute awareness on his part of the emotional and sensitive nature of this subject, especially
in the minds of Afrikaans readers.
4.2.1 Boer War Stories
Of the eleven Boer War stories collected in The Rooinek and Other Boer War Stories by
MacKenzie, only two, “The Affair at Ysterspruit” and “The Red Coat”, have Afrikaans
counterparts. They are “Die Voorval by Ijzerspruit” and “Die Rooibaadjie”, respectively the
first and penultimate stories in Verborge Skatte. It is significant that Bosman wrote “Die
Voorval by Ijzerspruit” in Afrikaans before he wrote an English version, and that it served to
open his Afrikaans (and bilingual) publication stint when it became his first published
30
Afrikaans story. Bosman himself did not publish an English version. (The story was first
published by Abrahams in 1963 in his Unto Dust collection.) The fact that Bosman uses an
authorial narrator to narrate this story in Afrikaans is of considerable importance. It affirms his
cultural alignment and affinity with his Afrikaner subjects and demonstrates the ease with
which he puts on his Afrikaans jacket – despite the fact that he did not subscribe to the typical
Afrikaner belief system.
De Kock suggests that the exposure given to Bosman in Die Ruiter, an Afrikaner
Nationalist mouthpiece, cannot be regarded as mere chance, but should be seen, rather, as a
welcoming to the “Afrikaner hearth” (2001:191). The issue is indeed significant in the light of
Bosman’s liberal worldview and his trenchant criticism of Afrikaans literature – expressly
voiced in his polemical writings at a time when the rise of Afrikaner Nationalism was taking
place. Considering Bosman’s eccentric view of patriotism and heroism – his cynical and
satirical stance towards the mythical invocations thereof in culture – Die Ruiter’s publication
of this story becomes almost courageous.6
With regard to Bosman’s satirical approach to human behaviour on the battlefield
MacKenzie remarks that:
[Bosman was typically] drawn to tales about the war dealing with the quirky,
less admirable aspects of human nature – cowardice, duplicity, vainglory – and
it is these failings that he gently but incisively reveals to lie beneath the glossy
patina of Boer mythology. He was, after all, pre-eminently a satirist, and the
glamorous, embellished tales that he encountered in the Bushveld clearly
aroused his sharpest debunking instincts. Despite this, the characters that one
encounters in these tales are sympathetically drawn. In all of us, Bosman
appears to be saying, lies the potential for both nobility and ignominy; it all
depends on circumstance. (2000: 9)
31
De Kock remarks as follows about “Die Voorval by Ijzerspruit”:
[T]he narration carefully sets the scene for Oom Schalk Lourens’s world of
Marico characters, who were to be given life in Afrikaans over the next two
years. “Ijzerspruit” is written in the voice of the author himself as a new teacher
in the Marico, and in it Bosman explains his role as the educator who does
‘huisbesoek’, not only because it is his duty to the Transvaal Education
Department, but because it is his pleasure and privilege as a writer to seek out
among the Marico folk what he calls, in the tale itself, a “first-rate source of
material for stories.” (2001: 191)
In this story Bosman, the teacher, meets Ouma Botha (who becomes “Ouma
Engelbrecht” in English)7 and discovers that she has been ostracised by the community after
her son’s exploits at the skirmish at Ijzerspruit.8 Bosman as a young teacher interested in the
rich beauty of the stories on the farms, learns from Ouma Botha about the sensitive, kindhearted Johannes. It turns out that he was a traitor who fought on the side of the National
Scouts. For Bosman, however, it does not matter on which side Johannes fought. He admires
his qualities as a soldier.
The differences between the Afrikaans and English versions of this Boer War story
reveal a careful shift in satirical attitude on Bosman’s part when he wrote in Afrikaans about
sensitive issues such as war and treason. Another aspect of Bosman’s bilingual writing
concurrently presents itself in these stories: it appears that, once Bosman had written a story
for an Afrikaans readership, he felt at liberty, when penning the English equivalent, to pander
more to that readership. He did so through providing more information and explanation than
he would when writing exclusively in English – where his local colouring delivered through
code switches may perhaps have been lost on English readers. (This is one of the possible
32
reasons why his stories were not published in other English-speaking countries.) In the two
Boer War stories under discussion, as well as the ‘Kaffir War’9 stories, he often explains
battlefield strategy to his uninformed English reader. For instance, in “The Red Coat” he
refers to “the number of redcoats that were lined up at Bronkhorstspruit that morning” (2000:
27; my emphasis). In the Afrikaans version Bosman assumes the Afrikaans reader’s
familiarity with battlefield procedure and simply mentions the fact that “al daardie
rooibaadjies” were present (1952b: 15). In the English version there is also a distinct play to
English sentiments when orderliness and discipline in the English lines is suggested. On the
other hand, Bosman similarly panders to Afrikaner sensibilities. In the Afrikaans version a
dismissive attitude towards the redcoats is evident. He also validates the Afrikaner’s liberation
struggle by dubbing the war in “Die Voorval by Ijzerspruit”, “die Vryheidsoorlog” (7)
or, more emotionally, “die Vryheidstryd” (7; my emphases) whereas in English it neutrally
remains the “Second Boer War” (1971: 122). The Marico region, “die Bosveld” (1948b: 43),
acquires a slightly derogatory colour in English as “the backveld” (1971: 125).
More sweeping satirical changes occur when Bosman boldly inserts longer passages of
particularly biting satire in one language version of the story while omitting them in the
other.10 For example, the following passage, describing the customary presentation of a
photograph depicting a proud and staunch family war hero on horseback, appears only in the
English version, “The Affair at Ysterspruit.”
And I would think that that veld-kornet never sat so stiffly on his horse –
certainly not on the morning when the commando set out for the Natal border.
And he would have looked less important, although perhaps more solemn, on a
night when the empty bully-beef tins rattled against the barbed-wire in front of
a block-house, and the English Lee-Metfords spat flame. (1971: 122)
33
This poignant story-behind-the-photograph is a deliberate attempt on Bosman’s part at
demystifying the ‘war hero’ myth and is reminiscent of the anti-heroic sentiments expressed in
the war poetry of Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon. Nevertheless, poignant and realistic
though they may be, Bosman seems to be aware that this kind of satire cut too close to the
quick of a nation’s humiliation to be repeated in Afrikaans. He is careful not to raise the ire of
Afrikaners who, perhaps, had not in 1948 achieved the necessary distance from these heartrending memories as yet.
Similar examples occur in “The Red Coat.” However, in this story, reflections by the
Marico farmers on the First Boer War Battle of Majuba Hill where the English division under
General Colley suffered all but annihilation at the hands of the Boers, represent – for the sake
of saving (British) face – a flagrant distortion of historical facts on Bosman’s part. It is
suggested in the English version that, at a certain stage of the battle, the Boers were retreating.
In a long passage (quoted below) the events of the historical battle of Majuba are turned
around so as to satirise the Boers:
Hannes Potgieter declared, it was not unusual for a burgher to find himself
advancing away from the enemy – and quite fast, too.
He was not ashamed to admit that a very similar thing had happened to
him at one stage of the battle of Majuba Hill. He had run back a long way,
because he had suddenly felt that he wanted to make sure that the kaffir
agterrryers were taking proper care of the horses. But he need have had no fears
on that score, Hannes Potgieter added. Because when he reached the sheltered
spot among the thorn-trees where the horses were tethered, he found that three
kommandants and a veldkornet had arrived there before him, on the same
34
errand. The veldkornet was so anxious to reassure himself that the horses were
all right, that he was even trying to mount one of them.
When Hannes Potgieter said that, he winked. And we all laughed. For
we knew that he had fought bravely at Majuba Hill. But he was also ready
always to acknowledge that he had been very frightened at Majuba Hill. And
because he had been in several wars, he did not like to hear the courage of Piet
Niemand called in question. What Hannes Potgieter meant us to understand
was that if, at the battle of Bronkhorstspruit, Piet Niemand did perhaps run at
one stage, it was the sort of thing that could happen to any man; and for which
any man could be forgiven, too. (2000: 27-28) 11
Bosman knew that the Afrikaans reader was unlikely to take this kind of sycophantic
propaganda as a joke. To deprive them of the glory of one of the few decisive victories
(Majuba) over Britain would undoubtedly be regarded as insidious. Understandably, the entire
passage is omitted in the Afrikaans version. Instead, Hannes Potgieter states that he was not
exactly happy with the way that the history books had treated the part of the battle that he took
part in. Bosman thus, ironically, implies that his (Bosman’s) fabricated version of the Battle of
Majuba Hill is the version rendered in standard historical works!12
On the other hand, confabulation between Bosman and his Afrikaans reader is not
limited to isolated references, but permeates “Die Rooibaadjie” on a much deeper narrative
level. With regard to this aspect in “The Red Coat”, MacKenzie observes that:
The general details of the story would be common community knowledge and
would therefore conceivably be available to [Oom Schalk]. Bosman does not
therefore have to resort to unlikely contrivances to place Oom Schalk in a
position to observe incidents crucial to the story. For example, when he has to
describe Niemand’s visit to the hospital and the offer of the watch, Oom Schalk
cannot adopt an omniscient, God’s eye view, but says instead: “those who were
35
present at this incident in the temporary hospital at Bronkhorstspruit said that
Piet Niemand reached over to receive the gift. He almost had his hand on the
watch, they say. And then he changed his mind and stood up straight.” When it
comes to this kind of close detail, Schalk can rely on conveniently placed
informants to sustain the story’s credibility. (1999: 151)
It is surprising to discover that, in the Afrikaans version, Bosman does exactly what
MacKenzie presumed would produce a contrived effect. In this part of the story, Oom Schalk
does assume an omniscient view of the critical events of the story’s climax and it is ironic that,
by comparison, the obligatory authentication of these events in “The Red Coat” achieved by
interpolating “those who were present at this incident in the temporary hospital at
Bronkhorstspruit”, “they say” and “these people said” (2000: 30) actually acquires an air of
contrivance. In Afrikaans, the reportage of these events is uninterrupted and fluent: “Piet
Niemand het sy hand na die horlosie gereik. Toe het hy hom skielik bedenk en regop gestaan”
(16). To enhance the suggestion of inside knowledge of this very personal exchange between
Piet Niemand and Andries Visagie, Oom Schalk’s tone resembles that of a close observer who
is deeply moved by it. An emotionally charged atmosphere is created by using evocative
words such as “aandoenlik” (15) and “innige bevestiging van hul vriendskap” (16) as opposed
to the more neutral and distant “touching” (29) and “the seal on the friendship” (30) in
English. Bosman seems confident that the Afrikaans reader is not going to challenge the fact
that Oom Schalk is ever present and privy to all the goings-on in the community. In fact, he
presumes the reader’s familiarity with this type of character, whose magnificent stories are the
fruits of an uncanny talent to sniff out a good story and who always seems to be around when
anything sensational happens.
36
4.2.2 Satire of Religion
Throughout history, religious bigotry, strife and intolerance have been common targets of
satire. In fact, censorship underwritten by the elevated status of religions such as Catholicism
during Medieval times and the ruthless persecution of dissidents by the church, rendered satire
with its parodic and allegorical modus a popular vehicle for creating social awareness about
malpractices in the church. Satirical masterpieces such as Dante’s Divine Comedy, to name but
one, became famous for their artistic innovation and fearless disdain of religious hypocrisy.13
Two-faced and corrupt church office-bearers and their errant ways, irrespective of
denomination, have never ceased to provide satirists with raw material. The South African
situation is no exception. As in the case of many other colonies, religion became a key
element in the ‘Gold, Glory, Gospel’ charade. Religion provided a convenient guise for many
evils. ‘Heathen’ barbarians had to be converted to the Christian faith in order to render them
‘civilised.’ ‘Uncivilised’ behaviour often served as an excuse for punishing indigenous tribes
into subservience. To put it plainly, the Bible was carried in one hand and the gun in the other.
On the other hand, religion was the only beacon of hope for colonists on the frontier
where everyday life was fraught with all kinds of perils. Because frontierspeople drew from it
the strength they needed to survive, they took their religion and its sacraments very seriously.
They were mainly Protestants of the Dutch Reformed Church or its breakaway branch, the
‘Doppers.’ The latter originated in the Netherlands in 1834 when church fathers protested
against nineteenth-century liberalism and the apparent condoning of liberal ideas by the
church. A return to the simple Christian values of the Reformation was advocated and
37
Enlightenment ideas such as religious tolerance rejected in favour of exclusive dogmatism.
The name ‘Doppers’ was first given to cattle farmers in the northern Cape Colony. They were
narrowminded, conservative and pious; the Word of God was their only guiding light. Prof.
John Murray described their religious mission as “de strengste soort van Calvinistische
orthodoxie te bewaren” (in Van der Vyver et al. 1959: 15). The fact that the Doppers
succeeded in adhering strictly to orthodox Calvinism and resisted the ‘new light’ of the
nineteenth century is ascribed to thorough Bible study as well as studying the teachings of old
church fathers such as Brakel and a scholar by the (ironic) name of Hellenbroek. Prof. Van
den Heever (in Van der Vyver et al. 1959: 16) states that the Doppers were of noble character,
high moral standing and filled with passionate patriotism. Their resistance to ‘new’ ideas was
reflected in their simple lifestyle and clothing. The Doppers came under fire from critics who
coined the nickname with its backveld connotations. In South Africa the Doppers nevertheless
became a religious force to be reckoned with. As their numbers increased, their rigid
adherence to dogma and conservatism (disciplinary action was part of their constitution) was
awe-inspiring to some and offensive to others. Office-bearers of the Dopper church were
respected and followed with trusting obedience because of the Bible’s promise that the flock
that heeds the shepherd will be protected. The ‘dominee’ was a person of high calling and
standing. Because he showed The Way by laying out the Scriptures to his (often illiterate)
congregation and devoted his life to their spiritual growth and well-being, they regarded him
as God’s emissary on earth and held him in the highest regard.
38
“Dopper and Papist”/ “Met Die Dagbreek”
Men of the cloth, especially those who abuse the unquestioning respect of the community for
their status in the clerical hierarchy, are one of Bosman’s favourite satirical targets. However,
“Dopper and Papist”, one of his strongest satires of churchmen, is the only short story in this
category translated into Afrikaans. Thus, Bosman again ventures, in a manner of speaking,
onto thin ice. For devout Afrikaners, a mockery of their religion and church office-bearers is
tantamount to sacrilege. It is interesting, therefore, to examine how Bosman manipulates his
satire in Afrikaans when targeting religious men and their follies.
In an analysis of these two stories the researcher is hampered by the fact that no
manuscript of “Met die Dagbreek” has been traced and the story appears to have been
published only once (in On Parade). Here, one’s first impression is that the story has
purposely been edited to fit onto a single page. In a case where two or more publications of a
story are available, one is able to reach, through comparison, fairly accurate conclusions about
the degree of editing (and possible motivations therefor) that transpired between publications.
Therefore, De Kock, when comparing the Brandwag publication of the story “Dit Spook by
die Drif” with its re-publication in On Parade, concludes that, in the latter case, “the story was
cut to shreds in order to make it fit on a single page, rendering it all but unintelligible” (2001:
195). In the case of “Met die Dagbreek”, the researcher is not afforded the luxury of a
comparison. The only comparison possible is between the English story that appeared in Trek
(in March 1948) and the later Afrikaans version in On Parade (6 November 1948). A study of
these two versions, however, reveals that the single-page concern may actually be negligible –
especially considering Bosman’s customary omission of passages of ‘Afrikaner-sensitive’
39
nature when translating into Afrikaans. The fact that some passages (omitted from “Dopper
and Papist”) have been inserted into “Met die Dagbreek”, serves further to allay suspicions
that indiscriminate ‘cutting up’ (in order to fit the story onto one page) had taken place during
the editing process. It is unlikely, moreover, that Ehrhardt Planjé, editor of On Parade and
close friend of Bosman, would have edited without negotiating changes with him. Therefore,
even in the case of the On Parade publication of “The Ghost at the Drift”, which, admittedly,
might be a more obvious case of editing to fit onto one page, one cannot simply assume that it
had indiscriminately been cut up. In fact, the shorter version is fluent, coherent and more taut
in structure than the longer version.14
It is interesting that the title, “Dopper and Papist” (erroneously rendered as “Dopper
and Baptist” in On Parade, March 1948), unambiguously advertises the story’s satirical
content. The title “Met die Dagbreek”, on the other hand, appears to deliberately delude the
reader as to its real strain. However, considering the extensive paring down of the Afrikaans
story by the omission of as many as nine separate passages, all containing particularly strong
satire, one begins to understand that an important shift of emphasis is invoked by the
Afrikaans title. Here it is not so much about the bigotry of the predikant and the ouderling of
the Dopper church, but rather about new perspectives and insights emerging at daybreak after
the long, dark night and the forgetting of differences during a time of crisis. The daybreak
symbolism in “Met die Dagbreek” is evident in the poignant last scene of the story when a
new day of tolerance dawns on the relations between religious adversaries.
The leaner structure of the Afrikaans story makes the English version seem somewhat
cumbersome in places. Bosman’s lampooning of the predikant and ouderling in the English
version becomes almost excessive and unfounded at times. He pillories them by caricaturing
40
their physical appearances into a kind of Laurel and Hardy mould: “The predikant was lean
and hawk-faced; the ouderling was fat and had broad shoulders” (1948a: 22). Vermooten is
also ridiculed as loquacious and loudmouthed. The sentence, “Rev. Vermooten was very
eloquent when he came to denouncing the heresies of Catholicism” (22; my emphasis) is
omitted from “Met die Dagbreek.” Here Bosman seems to be aware that, because he has not
placed the same emphasis on the predikant’s loudness and incessant talking, and in order to
remain in tune with his ‘deferential’ satirical vein, another angle is required in “Met die
Dagbreek.” Therefore, this passage becomes: “Ds. Vermooten het die kettery van die
Katolieke baie hewig veroordeel” (1948g: 11). One should not gain the impression, however,
that Bosman is overly wary of tackling issues of religious bigotry in Afrikaans. On the
contrary, although his tone appears to be more reverent on the surface, the double emphasis
contained in “baie hewig veroordeel” is unmistakably taunting.
Bosman’s sarcastic references in “Dopper and Papist” to the “God-fearing
conversation” (22) taking place between the ouderling and the predikant are particularly
acerbic. He chides them and other prominent community leaders for their shameless bigotry:
on the one hand they criticise the Papists for their ‘idolatory’ and ‘heretic’ activities, yet on the
other hand they concede that “[General Lemmer] didn’t mind how many Catholics voted for
him” (22). It is indeed a pity that this remark as well as the gem of sardonic humour that
follows directly afterwards is not included in “Met die Dagbreek”: “A Catholic’s vote was,
naturally, not as good as a Dopper’s, he said, but the little cross that had to be made behind a
candidate’s name cast out the evil that was of course otherwise lurking in a Catholic’s ballot
paper” (22). Here, the potential for social commentary through cunning wordplay is
masterfully utilised by Bosman. The semantics of the noun ‘cross’ thus explored is further
41
developed in the remainder of the story. Later, when Oom Schalk describes the wedding
ceremony of a Dopper girl Gertruida and the Catholic Piet Reilly, the ‘cross’ theme provides
“Dopper and Papist” with one of its most tender moments: Oom Schalk reports that “on the
day [Gertruida] got married she was saying prayers to the Virgin Mary on a string of beads,
and was wearing a silver cross at her throat that was as soft and white as the roses she held
pressed against her” (22; my emphasis). The deeply moving account of the Roman Catholic
ceremony together with the description of the candle burning before the image of the Mother
Mary in the corner of Gertruida’s voorkamer, stand in stark ironic contrast to the ouderling’s
feeble protestations about the “iniquity” and “unrighteousness” (23) of these rites. The ironic
suggestion that the cross General Lemmer hoped would drive out the ‘evil’ from the ballot
papers is the same cross that Gertruida had around her neck and the statuette of Mother Mary
in her hand does not escape the reader’s observation and this message is powerfully endorsed
by the story’s surprise ending.
As has already been noted, it is indeed a pity (from a literary point of view) that
Bosman chose not to avail himself of the same effective word play in “Met die Dagbreek”,
since the words ‘kruis’ (the Roman Catholic emblem) and ‘kruisie’ (on the ballot paper) are
equally well disposed to the kind of punning that he pursues so skilfully in “Dopper and
Papist.” There is ample evidence in this and his other Afrikaans stories that Bosman did not let
pass the opportunity that a good pun offers for tongue-in-cheek commentary.
However, in this case, the particularly ruthless exposure of a most malicious
manifestation of religious bigotry (as practised by General Lemmer) – that of political
opportunism that conveniently suspends deep-seated religious differences at times when one
may profit from one’s religious adversaries – was probably too strong for Bosman’s Afrikaans
42
readers of the time, and this was probably why he omitted these passages from “Met die
Dagbreek.” Mindful of the unquestioning respect harboured by Afrikaners for their political
and church leaders, Bosman respectfully backs off.
As mentioned, Bosman is remarkably aware of the humorous potential of word play in
Afrikaans. An exquisite example is found in the episode dealing with the cart-horse in “Met
die Dagbreek.” Bosman uses the expression “om ’n perd te laat blaas” (to rest a horse) to great
effect in the scene where Oom Schalk and Gert Bekker are looking for an excuse to stop and
take swigs of brandy en route. Knowing that alcohol consumption is frowned upon by the
Dopper predikant and ouderling, they fabricate a ludicrous story about blowing brandy fumes
into the horses’ nostrils to revive them. Bosman clearly relishes the opportunity that punning
on this expression provides for extended satirical commentary. The predikant, after
sententiously remarking that “Dit is seker die oorsprong van daardie welbekende uitdrukking
‘om ’n perd te laat blaas’” (11), insists on ‘relieving’ Oom Schalk and Gert Bekker of the
‘hard work’ of reviving the horses. Because the English translation (to rest a horse) does not
lend itself to the same kind of linguistic acrobatics, it is much less humorous and less terse in
structure than the Afrikaans version. (One is actually inclined to speculate that the Afrikaans
story with its clever word play may have been conceived and written first; indeed, the kernel
of the story itself may even have been suggested by the linguistic possibilities inherent in the
Afrikaans expression.) On the other hand, the ironic use of the word “astute” (23) in
describing the predikant’s ‘understanding’ of the brandy blowing procedure, in comparison to
the more direct, “geslepe” (11) (sly) in Afrikaans, is more effective in an ironic-satirical
context.
43
The climax of the story deals with Gertruida O’Reilly’s request to pray for her
daughter who has been bitten by a snake. The predikant is caught on the wrong foot by
Gertruida’s insistence that it should be done “the Catholic way.” She states her reasons as
follows: “I married Piet Reilly […] and his faith is my faith. Piet has been very good to me,
Father. And I love him” (23). Oom Schalk subsequently remarks that: “We noticed that
Gertruida called the predikant ‘Father’ now, and not ‘Dominee.’ During the silence that
followed, I glanced at the candle burning before an image of the Mother Mary in a corner of
the voorkamer” (23). Bosman omits the entire passage from “Met die Dagbreek” – possibly
because he realises that, for the Afrikaans reader, a woman renouncing her faith so
emphatically in addition to having the audacity of asking the Dopper predikant to pray “the
Catholic way”, is just too much to digest at once. However, it is rather sad that the Afrikaans
reader is deprived of this deeply touching passage, clearly a reference to the words of Ruth in
the Bible:
For wherever you go, I will go;
And wherever you lodge, I will lodge;
And your people shall be my people,
And your God, my God.15
From this point onwards, the two versions of the story are similar. However, small but
significant differences once again underscore the subtle dexterity with which Bosman makes
shifts in cultural emphasis. The predikant agrees to pray from the Roman Catholic prayer book
that, Oom Schalk says, “could almost have [been] taken for a Dutch Reformed Church psalmbook” (31), and it is interesting that in “Met die Dagbreek” the cameraderie between Oom
Schalk and the Afrikaans reader is confirmed when he refers to the psalm book as resembling
“een van ons kerk se psalmboeke” (11; my emphasis). Bosman, however, leaves no margin for
44
ambiguity when he drives home the powerful central message of the story. The dominee,
resolving to pray for the child, explains to the recalcitrant ouderling that, “the Lord will
understand” (23) / “Dis iets wat die Here sal verstaan” (11). Bosman’s choice of words,
however, emphasises the mental anguish of the Afrikaans ouderling: “The veins stood out on
his forehead” (31) / “Op sy voorhoof het die vol are donker uitgestaan” (11). It is notable how
Bosman again draws on an uncanny feel for the raw emotion invoked by Afrikaans words
such as “vol” and “donker” (omitted in the English version). Well placed at the climax of the
story, this powerful description allows Oom Schalk to continue playing to his Afrikaans
audience, showing his empathy for the intense spiritual torment in the mind of the ouderling.
However, precisely because Bosman has so painstakingly established respect and mutual
understanding between Oom Schalk and the Afrikaans reader throughout “Met die Dagbreek”,
the story’s surprise ending jolts him/her to attention. In a shock ironic reversal, the comfort
zone into which Oom Schalk has lulled the Afrikaans reader is rudely shattered when the
ouderling, unexpectedly, picks up his hat and follows the dominee into the child’s room. The
implication is clearly that a man must have his hat in order to be able to take it off in respect!
(A man going out of doors without his hat was considered not to be properly dressed – the
obvious advantages of wearing a hat under the African sun, notwithstanding. When he greets
someone on the street, a man doffs his hat; when he goes indoors, the hat is removed and
placed on a hat stand in the ‘voorkamer’ and on the occasion of praying outdoors (at a
graveside, for example), the hat is taken off and held against the chest. It seems that the
ouderling, although he is indoors, feels that the occasion calls for a show of respect – holding
his hat to his chest while praying! The Afrikaans idiomatic expression ‘Met die hoed in die
hand’ means ‘to approach in humbleness.’)
45
4.2.3 ‘Kaffir War’ Stories and Racism
“Tot Stof” / “Unto Dust”
In 1999 a heated debate erupted in the media when it became public that a white schoolteacher
was dismissed after setting a comprehension test on Bosman’s short story “Unto Dust.”
Offense was taken at the word ‘kaffir’ in the story and the disciplinary process focused on the
apparent disregard on the teacher’s part for the feelings of black students and the fact that the
word ‘kaffir’ was generally regarded as a racial slur. This incident once again brought to the
fore the sad irony that often haunts interpretations of Bosman’s work. Eminent Afrikaans poet
and literary commentator, T. T Cloete put his finger on the anomaly when he remarked shortly
afterwards in his column in Beeld that Bosman always seems to be in trouble from both sides.
He recounts a situation long ago:
toe […] Bosman se werk voorgeskryf was vir die toentertydse blanke skole in
die toentertydse Transvaal en dat […] onderwysers beswaar gemaak het teen
Bosman se verhale […], want dit maak die Afrikaner belaglik. […] Dieselfde
[my emphasis] Bosman het ‘n pragtige verhaal geskryf waarin hy vertel hoe
blankes (Afrikaners) en swart mense in ’n geveg betrokke was en hoe die
blankes agterna ’n gesneuwelde blanke se bene van ’n gesneuwelde swarte s’n
wou skei om die witte se bene op ’n waardige manier te gaan begrawe.
Hul probleem was egter dat al die dooies se velle toe swart en die bene
toe wit was. Die gevolg? Hulle het later op ’n eienaardige manier ontdek dat
hulle heeltemal teen hulle bedoeling die swarte begrawe het. Groot ironie,
waaroor jy jou oë soutnat lag. (1999: 3)
46
The story is of course “Unto Dust” / “Tot Stof” and Cloete’s tongue-in-cheek
commentary not only highlights the irony inside the story that makes the reader laugh
until his eyes are “soutnat”, but also the irony bound up with the bigotry of conflicting
(Afrikaner) reactions to the story.
A Sunday Times reader using the pseudonym “English Teacher” wrote in the 11 July
1999 edition that:
It is disturbing […] to read of a teacher losing his position for teaching Herman
Charles Bosman’s short story Unto Dust, as reported in “‘K’ word farce reveals
apartheid’s shameful legacy” (June 27).
As an English teacher, I have generally found South African authors
protesting against racism to be bitter and cynical in their works. Bosman, by
contrast, is a breath of fresh air. His satire is humorous, highly readable and
enjoyable.
I teach Unto Dust to pupils every year. It is the ideal vehicle to
demonstrate the difference between author and narrator – how an author with a
non-racist message reveals his sentiments by using a racist narrator. To take
offense at the story shows a complete lack of understanding of how the text
operates.
The most disturbing aspect is that my pupils have no difficulty in
coming to terms with the significance of the word ‘kaffir’ in the context of the
tale […] (14)
More intriguing aspects of this story emerge when one considers that “Tot Stof”
appeared in On Parade on 21 December 1948 and “Unto Dust” in February 1949 in Trek. In
other words, it seems possible that the story was first conceived and penned in Afrikaans.
When comparing the Afrikaans and English versions and considering the differences between
47
the two stories, it furthermore becomes clear that Bosman challenges and targets the
Afrikaner’s racism in a most unambiguous (albeit ironic) manner. In fact, Bosman’s Afrikaans
‘Kaffir War’ stories represent an about-turn in his satirical register: whereas Bosman checks
himself in the Afrikaans Boer War stories in order to render them more ‘Afrikaner-sensitive’,
he seems here to deliberately intensify his satirical onslaught in order to critique Afrikaner
racism.
In this regard De Kock observes that Bosman gives the Afrikaans story “a decidedly
different impact” (2001: 209). He goes on to say that: “This additional element, the fact that
Bosman’s stories feel different in Afrikaans, is not limited to the question of language alone. It
goes much deeper. [….] this ingrained xenophobia now lies much closer, in the very fibres of
the Afrikaans language. It now comes directly out of the mouths of the Afrikaner characters”
(209). The “different impact” of the Afrikaans story that De Kock refers to comes down to a
few, strategically placed, critical differences between the English and Afrikaans versions of
the story. The very subtlety of these changes – a slightly different word, a conspiratorial
‘wink’ at the audience – belies the power of their impact. The reader, wiping the tears from his
eyes at the end of the story, realises with a shock that s/he is laughing at her/himself. Such is
Bosman’s writerly technique – never patronising or pedantic, always ironic and humorous,
allowing human beings to see the folly of their ways through their own eyes.
In both versions of the remarkable story “Tot Stof” / “Unto Dust” Bosman, typically,
wastes no time in setting the scene. The economy and the heavily charged metaphorical
allusion and pathos of the two-word title, are vintage Bosman. The titles of both the Afrikaans
and English stories invoke the Scriptures in a striking way. The phrase ‘unto dust’ is a direct
translation of ‘tot stof’, and is mentioned for the first time in the book of Genesis in the Old
48
Testament. After Adam has fallen from grace, God admonishes him with the following words:
“Want stof is jy, en tot stof sal jy terugkeer” (“Dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return”;
Gen. 3:19.)16 The dust theme often recurs in the Bible and Bosman, therefore, undoubtedly
strikes a resonant chord. The average Afrikaner’s religious devotion and thorough knowledge
of the Scriptures render more explicit references redundant.17 S/he is likely to be totally
familiar with other Biblical allusions to dust as man’s final state, such as in Job 10:9 (1934:
508) where Job bemoans his piteous circumstances and reproaches God: “Bedink tog dat U
my soos klei gevorm het, en wil U my tot stof laat terugkeer?” Later in Job 34:14-15 (525)
Job praises God thus: “As Hy op Homself ag sou gee, Sy Gees en Sy asem na Hom sou
terugtrek, dan sou alle vlees tesame die asem uitblaas, en die mens sou tot stof terugkeer” (my
emphases). Bosman, therefore, skilfully plays to Afrikaner religious sentiments as he builds up
his narrative towards the surprise climax – the point at which he drives the Afrikaner into a
corner where he is confronted with his racism and religious bigotry. This is a point from which
there is no escape from the sheer contradiction and hypocrisy of his belief system – based,
ironically, on Biblical teaching.
A significant difference between the Afrikaans and English versions occurs right at the
beginning of the story. Oom Schalk (who, one assumes, narrates the story)18 addresses the
reader/listener thus: “Jy het seker al opgemerk hoe jy met die dood van ’n jong persoon die
gevoel kry van ’n soort aandoenlikheid” (1948j: 13). (Note Bosman’s feel for the emotive
value of the word, ‘aandoenlikheid’.) The English version reads: “I have noticed that when a
young man or woman dies, people get the feeling that there is something beautiful and
touching in the event […]” (1949b: 18; my emphases). Oom Schalk, in the Afrikaans story,
establishes a certain degree of intimacy based on shared experience between him and his
49
audience. In the English version the emphasis falls on ‘I’, the first person narrator (Oom
Schalk), who, in this case, establishes some degree of distance between him and his audience.
In “Tot Stof”, the chummy cameraderie between Oom Schalk and his audience is most
conspicuous in other passages. Contrary to “Unto Dust”, where distance is maintained (“farms
for white people to be laid to rest in […]” (18)), he once more confirms the insider point of
view in “Tot Stof”, where the corresponding passage reads: “plase […] waar ons […] ter aarde
kan bestel word” (13). Although seemingly trivial, this aspect lends an entirely different
dimension to the Afrikaans story. In this regard Hunt (1994: 62) notes that, in the English
short stories, Oom Schalk often finds himself in conflict with his community. An example of
this conflict – although in this particular case it is not based on racial issues – occurs in the
story “In the Withaak’s Shade.” Hunt goes on to say that, in cases where Oom Schalk
distances himself from the conservative values of his community, the ironic distance between
Bosman and Schalk Lourens diminishes. In “Tot Stof” where Oom Schalk establishes mutual
confidence between himself and his Afrikaans audience, the opposite effect seems to be
obtained. However, this is just another sleight of hand. The Boers’ conservatism is, in reality,
held up for scrutiny by the insider himself and this, as De Kock states, has “a much stronger
kick” (2001: 210).
The increased effect of Bosman’s irony is especially apparent in a small but critical
shift towards the end of the story. It deals with the manner in which the black warrior falls to
the ground when Stoffel Oosthuizen, fleeing on horseback, succeeds in felling him with one
rifle shot. In “Tot Stof” (it is important to remind oneself that this version was probably
written first), Stoffel Oosthuizen’s account of the incident reads as follows: “Ek kon sien hoe
daardie lang kaffer vooroor val, dwarsoor Hans Welman se naakte lyk” (13; my emphasis).
50
The English translation has the black man falling forward “beside the naked body of Hans
Welman” (my emphasis; 18). The powerful description of this macabre embrace in “Tot Stof”:
“Hans Welman […] met die lang kaffer bo-op hom” (13) – an obviously deliberate shift in
emphasis – is heart-stopping and infinitely more poignant than the English version: “Hans
Welman lying dead on the ground, with the tall kaffir next to him” (18; my emphases). And
what better way to firmly drive home the central message of this deeply touching story:
“[D]eath coming to all of us alike, and making us all equal” (18)!
“Op Kommando teen Modjadja”19 / “Great Uncle Joris” / “Jan Bezuidenhout se
Oorlogservaring”
De Kock provides the following brief commentary on this story:
As in “Die Voorval by Ijzerspruit”, the story-line in “Op Kommando teen
Modjadja” – a story which places an incomplete story inside the framework of
an earlier, also incomplete (oral) story and loads the entire narrative with deep
suggestiveness – is taken up with the comical or pitiful doings of Boer soldiers
during the Anglo-Boer War.20 The Afrikaans story’s appearance preceded its
English counterpart, “Great Uncle Joris”, by four months. “Great Uncle Joris”
appeared only in December 1948, in Trek, another journal to which Bosman
contributed at this time. (2001: 192)
As De Kock states, one part of this story deals with circumstances during the campaign
against Modjadja and his Platkop Bechuana tribe. The Boers’ cowardice, ignominious retreat
and strategic failures resulting from underestimating the tribesmen are ruthlessly satirised. The
51
other part of the story deals with the predicament of farmers who, when called up by the
commandos, have to leave their wives on the farms. At first reading, Bosman’s satire seems to
be very similar in the English and Afrikaans versions. (As was his custom, Bosman inserted
passages containing explanations about history, war procedures and so forth into “Great Uncle
Joris” for the sake of the uninformed English reader. These passages, however, have little or
no effect on the satirical impact of the story.) The small differences that do exist turn out, upon
closer inspection, to be significant. Consider, for example, the passage in which Jan
Bezuidenhout – prompted by Frikkie Van Blerk’s announcement that a neighbour, Gideon
Kotze, is looking after his farm, too – relates the circumstances around a similar situation
when his great-uncle Joris was called up to fight in the Fifth Kaffir War in the Cape Colony. A
friend also looked after his farm then. In Afrikaans this part of the story reads thus: “Voordat
hy oorlog toe is, het my oud-oom Joris met ’n buurman, wat ’n groot vriend van hom was,
reëlings getref om sy plaas dikwels te besoek, ingeval sy vrou hulp nodig sou hê” (1948a: 8).
The English version reads as follows: “Before setting out for the war, my great-uncle Joris
arranged for a friend and neighbour to visit his farm regularly, in case his wife needed help”
(1948b: 14). The clause “wat ’n groot vriend van hom was”, inserted in the Afrikaans version,
has a much more sarcastic tone than the English “a friend.” The fact that, in the preceding part
of the story, betrayal by neighbours looking after wives is already strongly suggested, gives
the mention that Uncle Joris’s neighbour was ’n groot vriend” a much more distinct sarcastic
undertone. The semantic impact of the word ‘groot’ in this context again shows how finely
tuned Bosman is to the full creative potential of his Afrikaans medium. He seldom lets slip an
opportunity for linguistic virtuosity for literary effect.
52
It is interesting that, in its satire of the Boers’ cowardice, the English version is more
suggestive and subtle than the Afrikaans version. There may be differences in opinion, though,
about the style that renders the greater satirical impact; the one requiring the reader to make
inferences and draw conclusions or the more direct approach. Compare the two versions of the
skirmish with the tribesmen: “Toe sy maats hom vir die laaste keer gesien het, was my oudoom Joris hande-viervoet aan’t kruip in ’n aardvarkgat. Hulle wis nie of die Xosas vir hom
kon sien nie. Miskien moes die kommando vinnig terugry – nie net omdat hulle weer moes
gaan laai nie –” (8); “The last his comrades saw of him, he was crawling on his hands and
knees towards an aardvark-hole. They did not know whether the Xosas had seen him. Perhaps
the commando had to ride back fast because – ” (15). In the frame story a similar situation
develops when the commando is ambushed by the Platkop Bechuanas. This time it reads: “En
toe ons op ’n stywe galop uit daardie deel van die distrik geretireer het, was dit nie om ons
roers weer te laai nie” (11). While the two Afrikaans versions are similar, the second English
description is heavily charged with irony: “our commando remounted and galloped away out
of that whole part of the district. To reload, we said, years afterwards, to strangers who
asked” (29).
Because of the more achieved ironic atmosphere of the English story, its style may be
regarded as more ‘artful’ than the Afrikaans story. The fact remains, nevertheless, that
Bosman was intent on berating the Afrikaners’ racism in Afrikaans. Perhaps, for this reason,
he deliberately opted for a direct approach instead of his usual subtle and artful ironic style.
The ruthless manner in which he debunks heroic notions of the Boers as brave strategists and
the tribesmen as cowardly morons is ample proof that he does not shy away from exposing
and challenging racism, however painful this might have been to his Afrikaans reader.
53
4.3 Humour
To appreciate Bosman’s humour, one must understand that his view on the subject defies
textbook definitions and is as offbeat and unconventional as his humour itself. In his essay
“My Life” Bosman ponders the subject as follows:
A vein of humour is supposed to run through a good deal of my writings. The
worst thing about a joke is that it can as easily as not fall flat. It is also no novel
experience for me to have people laughing themselves sick over something that
I’ve been genuinely in earnest about. What all this is leading up to is that I wish
to express it as my conviction that, contrary to popular opinion on the subject,
about the most insuperable social, financial and cultural handicap there is in life
is for a person to have a sense of humour. “Laughing when things go wrong”:
that’s incorrect sequence. It’s through laughing that things go wrong.
(1981a: 419)
Bosman further elaborates on this theme in his essay “Humour and Wit”: “How shall
we define the wayward and mysterious and outcast thing that we term humour – that is forever
a pillar-to-post fugitive from the stern laws of reality, and yet forms so intimate a part of (and
even embodies) all truth about which there is an eternal ring?” (1981a: 589) Writing about the
American humorists of the nineteenth century, Bosman lauds them for their “awakening of
gigantic laughter” (591) and their “startlingly accurate insight into the strengths and frailties of
human nature, its divine extravagance” (592). He goes on to say that warmth is the very
lifeblood of true humour and that “to get at the true essence of humour, it must be approached
from the side of the eternities, where it stands as some sort of battered symbol of man’s more
direct relationship with God” (592).
54
It appears that, for Bosman, humour encompasses many types of laughter. Popular
readers often remark without hesitation that Bosman’s stories are funny. Some admit that
while a high entertainment level is maintained, the reader is often left with a tear in the eye.
On the other end of the scale, negative reactions dismissing his humour as forced, crass and
offensive have also been documented. The divergent nature of these responses underscores
Bosman’s philosophy – his insistence that while humour should always entertain, it should,
more importantly, unsettle and produce a certain degree of discomfort. Therefore, the
humorous impetus of his stories ranges from slapstick hilarity to tragicomic smile-with-a-tear
laughter to unnerving satire and macabre black comedy. Bosman masterfully employs humour
as a stylistic device to illuminate the full spectrum of ‘the human comedy’: he pokes fun at
man’s foibles – hypocrisy, venality, naivety and racism – and, playfully, makes even the
reader the butt of the joke when he or she least expects it. In the final instance, however, he
makes readers recognise their own vulnerabilities and teaches them to laugh at themselves.
Bosman’s humour eschews moral rectitude; instead, it empathises with humankind’s failings
and in this manner presses home the universal truth that nobody is perfect and it is precisely
these human imperfections and our ability to laugh about them that unite us and lend eternal
value to our earthly existence.
When applying generic classifications to Bosman’s brand of humour, one finds that
they either do not fit, or that an in-between position or combination of definitions comes
closest. Yet, ultimately, none adequately circumscribes the unique quality of his humour.
Consider the following critical viewpoints: Holman states that “[humour is a] comical mode
that [is] sympathetic, tolerant, and warmly aware of the depths of human nature, as opposed to
the intellectual, satiric, intolerant quality associated with wit” (in Cloete 1992: 170). Lesley
55
Stephen notes that humour is “the faculty which always keeps us in mind of the absurdity
which is the shadow of sublimity” (in Cloete 1992: 170). Stephen Leacock stresses the
“human kindliness” of humour: “Humour may be defined as the kindly contemplation of the
incongruities of life, and the artistic expression thereof” (in Cloete 1992: 170). As regards
“black humour”, Bosman’s humour seems to fit Murray’s depiction of Becket’s style: “the
exploitation for comic purposes of events and situations which would normally be regarded
with horror, revulsion or pity [….] The situation in which […] characters find themselves may
be painful, even hopeless; time and again, however, he makes us laugh grimly with them as
they reveal the macabre or grotesque side of their predicament or that of their fellow sufferers”
(in Cloete 1992: 171).
It is indeed apt that Bosman’s story about laughter, “The Homecoming”, was reprinted
as a tribute by The Forum shortly after his death. In this deeply touching account of Malie
Moolman’s devotion to her errant husband, Hendrik, Bosman reflects on the different faces of
laughter and that which makes it such a mysterious and paradoxical human expression. He
mentions different types of laughter: the indulgent laugh at the expense of others and the way
that this often boomerangs on the joker; the kind of laughter that does not reach the eyes and
which masks deep psychological pain; and the revengeful ‘last laugh’ type of laughter. “The
Homecoming” is the story of Malie’s enduring ability to laugh. Although her melodious laugh
temporarily disappeared during her time of crisis, her resilience and willingness to look on the
bright side – expressed in her laughter – carries her through and spontaneously bubbles to the
surface when her husband returns: “Now the sound of laughter, gay and silvery, sent its
infectious echoes ringing through the farmyard” (2002c: 61). However, in an ironical reversal
56
of situations, her husband is the one who is carried into the house this time and somehow
Malie’s “gay and silvery” laugh acquires a bizarre and hollow tone.
With regard to humour in Bosman’s Afrikaans stories, many of the observations in the
section on irony apply, specifically those regarding the commonality that exists between Oom
Schalk and his Afrikaans audience/reader. It is obvious that people with a common
background – a culture of shared traditions, anecdotes, myths and jokes – do not require
lengthy explanations in order to see the humour in a situation. Oom Schalk, who is familiar
with his audience’s personal and historical details and frame of reference, knows exactly what
tickles their funnybones. Most of the time subtle innuendo, a nudge or a wink may serve as a
sufficient cue to grasp his comic drift – often at the expense of the outsider who does not catch
the joke. In the Afrikaans Boer War stories, jokes about the British soldiers’ inappropriate
dress is likely to strike a resonant chord with the Afrikaans reader, whose resentment of the
British war machine is offset by a good chuckle about ridiculously out-of-place red jackets
dotting the vast and dusty African landscape: “Want die Engelse troepe het rooibaadjies gedra
wat jy net so ver teen die kakiekleur van die tamboekiegras kon sien as wat ons Martini
Henry-roers kon skiet” (1952b: 15). Afrikaans readers are also familiar with ‘mampoer’ or
‘perskebrandewyn’ and the unique kind of ‘skop’ that a bout of overindulgence might deliver
to the consumer. As the guffaws of Oom Schalk’s audience over the antics of a drunkard echo,
each person recalling a time when mampoer had made a laughing stock out of him, the reader
joins in the mirth because s/he understands the situation so well. As has already been
observed, Bosman often feels the need to explain situations such as this to his English
readership (and this frequently makes the English versions less tight in structure).
57
A good example of a tragicomic situation that is grasped so much the better by the
reader who, presumably, understands the trials of Afrikaner farmers in drought-stricken areas
such as the Marico, is found in “Die Glansrykheid uit Ramoutsa.” In slick metafictional style,
through skilful juxtaposition of different ideas and incongruities, Bosman simultaneously
debunks romantic notions of storytelling as well as the frontier farming tradition. The way in
which he captures the poignancy of a situation where a farmer is pushed to the brink of
bankruptcy by a severe drought again underlines Bosman’s deep insight into the heart of the
Afrikaner farmer on his farm, where rusty, still-standing windmills and empty boreholes
become grotesque symbols of devastation and poverty – symbols that the English reader will
never fully comprehend. In this regard, Oom Schalk, in typically wry, humorous style,
remarks as follows:
Aan die ernstige manier waarop die Marico-boere my by sekere geleenthede
om stories vra, kan ek bepaal dat daar geen luggie is om die windmeul te laat
draai nie, en dat die handvatsel van die pomp baie swaar is, en die water baie
diep is. En by sulke tye het ek telkemale opgelet dat daar ’n uitdrukking van
droefheid in ’n boer se oë kom wanneer hy besef dat ek al naby aan die end
van my storie is en dat hy binnekort sy hand na sy hoed sal moet uitstrek.
En wanneer ek die storie beëindig het, sê hy, “Ja-nee Oom Schalk. Dis
maar die wêreld se stryk. Ja, daardie storie gaan baie diep.” Maar ek weet hy is
al die tyd aan’t dink hoe diep die water in die boorgat is. (1951d: 8)
As Oom Schalk ruminates on, Bosman’s extraordinary feel for Afrikaans idiom is
demonstrated in an extended metaphor and wordplay on “diep.” He begins in the passage
above and continues as follows: “En ek glo dat dié redes dieper as enige storie is – selfs dieper
as die water in die boorgat in tye van droogte” (8; my emphasis).
58
This metaphor simply does not work in English as a reading of “Splendours from
Ramoutsa” confirms (although this version was, presumably, written first). It also confirms
that Bosman was continually aware of – and made a concerted effort to explore – new creative
possibilities opening up while translating into the medium of Afrikaans. It demonstrates
clearly that he relished the serendipity offered by this type of translation. The flair with which
he followed up opportunities for linguistic manoeuvres is evident in many similar passages
throughout his Afrikaans corpus. These are the gems of his art that shine in his slim but
undeniably significant contribution to Afrikaans literature.
In his essay “The Mocking Fugitive”, David Medalie states that Bosman’s humour is
often expressed through one of his favourite devices, namely bathos. He goes on to say that:
Bathos is so widespread in his writing that it becomes a trope, a continual
expression of perspectives coming adrift, of disjunction, of disparity widening
and deepening; yet it is also an attractive and accessible comic tool, and
accounts, in part, for Bosman’s reputation as a funny writer. […] One of the
ways in which this is conveyed is through having Oom Schalk articulate earthy
cynicism when the romance of the veld is asserted by others. (1994: 80-81)
These comments are particularly useful when considering how Bosman’s use of bathos
comes across in Afrikaans. “Die Glansrykheid uit Ramoutsa” is a good example. Consider the
following passage where Krisjan Geel’s account of the Indian shopkeeper’s story of a princess
is comically juxtaposed against Oom Schalk’s deliberately crass interjections and snide
running commentary. There is no doubt that the Afrikaans version comes across as
considerably funnier because Afrikaans readers will be more familiar with the particular type
of swindling and other dubious practices (detailed by Oom Schalk) prevailing in the typical
59
platteland Indian store. Only someone who knows (and who has, perhaps, found himself on
the receiving end of these swindles) will be able to create a mental picture and appreciate the
hilarious situation portrayed in the following passage: “Hy het bygevoeg dat daar heelparty
klante in die winkel was, wat dit nog moeiliker vir die koelie gemaak het om die storie
behoorlik te vertel, aangesien hy op so ’n ongemaklike manier moes staan onderwyl hy
allerhande goedere geweeg het, met sy voet op die skaal” (1951d:8).
De Kock succinctly summarises the effect of Bosman’s humour in Afrikaans when he
observes: “The Afrikaans stories are sometimes far more painful to read than their English
counterparts” (2001: 210). He notes that in the English version, “Splendours from Ramoutsa”,
Bosman calls the shopkeeper an ‘Indian’ and goes on to say that “[t]he Afrikaans story, on the
other hand, has little time for such subtleties [….] What the Afrikaans reader may still have
read with a wry smile on his or her face – the comical, antiquated race prejudice of the ‘old’
Boers – now returns [….] But they are also that much more ‘funny’ – that is, they often carry
[…] humour which is so characteristic of Bosman, in a sharper form than do the English
stories” (2001: 209-210).
4.4 The Significance of “Die Kaffertamboer” and “My Eerste Liefde” as Stories Written
Exclusively in Afrikaans
In his editor’s note to Unto Dust, Lionel Abrahams “confesses”, as he puts it, that “two of the
texts, The Kafir Drum and My First Love, are not Bosman’s own, but my re-translations from
Afrikaans versions. Many of the stories appeared in Afrikaans, especially in the bilingual On
60
Parade, but in the case of these two stories no complete copies of the English originals appear
to have survived. I found them among the most appealing and could not resist the temptation
to try and save them for this collection” (1971: 13–14; my emphasis). “Die Kaffertamboer”
was published four times in On Parade between February 1949 and July 1952. During this
time Bosman apparently did not consider publishing an English version. Neither had it been
published earlier in other periodicals such as The South African Opinion where, for instance,
“Visitors to Platrand” (the English version of “Vreemde Besoekers”) and “Starlight on the
Veld” (the English version of “Sterlig oor die Veld”) appeared. If Bosman had written an
English version at all, one might safely assume that, given the apparent zeal with which he
supplied On Parade with a copious flow of stories, he would have submitted it as well. The
same reasons apply to “My Eerste Liefde”, which Bosman published only once (in November
1948 in Afrikaans). As mentioned earlier, a draft version of “Die Kaffertamboer” does exist in
English: this is “Bush Telegraph”, which clearly preceded “Die Kaffertamboer” (which is a far
more achieved story), and which was published only in 2002 in the Anniversary Edition of
Unto Dust. Both “My Eerste Liefde” and “Die Kaffertamboer” are strong stories and would
readily have found an English readership. Perhaps Bosman was already too taken up with his
weekly ‘Voorkamer’ sequence, which appeared in The Forum from April 1950 until his death
in October 1951.
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4.4.1 “Die Kaffertamboer”
“Die Kaffertamboer” is in many respects an extraordinary and special story. It is the only story
from Bosman’s bilingual period that has not fallen prey to his playful habit of changing story
titles (and, sometimes, content) from one publication to the next. It is also the most frequently
published story of this period (four times). A close reading of this unique story reveals why it
shines like a gem in Bosman’s corpus and particularly because of its Afrikaans medium. If
Bosman had intended that this story in its final form should exist in Afrikaans only, this fact
would unquestionably attest to a finely tuned awareness of the connectedness between
language and the landscape from which it grew as well as to the subtle nuances of language
that render a story more powerful and, to put it simply, more ‘right’ in one language than
another.
In his article “A South African Zoshchenko”, which appeared in The London Magazine
in 1983, David Wright remarked: “Now and then the twentieth century is [Bosman’s] victim:
Ortega y Gasset would have approved ‘The Kaffir Drum’, a take-off of the bedevilment of
civilised life by modern communications, which carry tidings of remote disasters to those
whom they do not concern” (in Gray 1986: 52). “Die Kaffertamboer” is the story of old
Mosigo, a drummer who practises the ancient art of receiving and relaying drum messages
right across the continent of Africa. Bosman, however, does not introduce the reader to
Mosigo right away. With his customary economy of expression he makes his message clear by
ironically stating that you can hear the drums from a long distance, from as far as the
Bechuanaland border!21 He continues: “Maar daar was ’n tyd toe die stem van die tamboer
dwarsdeur Afrika getrek het” (1951c: 9; my emphasis). Thus, in a few lines the ever-
62
diminishing influence of the drums is directly linked to the white man’s preoccupation with
‘taming’ new frontiers by putting down borders and boundaries. Although, at first, the Marico
people will not admit that their understanding of the complicated drum code fails miserably,
they admit that they have a much greater affinity with the African communication system than
the imported one. Like the natives they have lived a simple life close to the earth without
radio, telegraph wires or cinema. At Buitendag’s humble announcement that, although he
cannot read nor write, he is not ashamed to admit that he and his wife brought up their seven
sons and three daughters on the news brought by old Mosigo’s drum, is a sincere and touching
tribute to Africa and unequivocally testifies to the allegiance that these Afrikaners felt to their
African roots.
In “Die Kaffertamboer” Bosman’s satirical take on Western civilisation and its
deleterious effects on indigenous cultures – and specifically Africa’s – is more scathing and
relentless than ever. The absurdity of a situation where nonsensical ‘news’ from Europe is
imposed via telegraph lines on Marico farmers who had no use for it is mercilessly exposed in
passages of hilarious commentary by the farmers on news snippets from abroad. Two such
news flashes report that fanatic gunmen had, on two occasions, missed when firing at the
Spanish king and the French president. Oom Schalk dryly remarks that everyone agreed that
the only sense one could make from such reports is that a fanatic is a person who cannot shoot
straight! The story ends on a sadly nostalgic and reflective note. As the news of old Mosigo’s
death reaches the Marico, Oom Schalk remembers his last visit to Mosigo when he informed
him that his drum would be silent and that this news had come to him from a very far distance.
On his way home Bosman wonders from whence that last message had come and whether it
was from further than France or Spain!
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The negative connotations of the word ‘kaffir’ (or the Afrikaans ‘kaffer’ as in the title
of this story) in South Africa is an unfortunate historical circumstance. Bosman, for one, was
convinced that it was a ‘cultural’ tag and nothing more. In “Aspects of S.A. Literature” he
comments:
If I were a Native, and I had acquired a certain amount of culture, I wouldn’t
want to call myself a Bantu or a native or a negro or an African. No, I would
demand to be recognised and accepted as a plain kaffir. I would receive from
the hand of the white man nothing less. I would never allow them to take away
from me a name so rich in legend, sorrow, and so heavy with the drama of
Africa. (1981b: 102)
It is notable that the word ‘kaffir’ was, in the first half of the twentieth century,
generally accepted and widely used. In the liberal periodical On Parade (31 October 1950: 5)
an article by Earl L. Denham praising the leadership of the Basotho chief is titled: “Moshesh –
Eerste Kaffer Diplomaat.” Daniel Hugo, editor of a collection of early twentieth-century
Afrikaans short stories Tydskrif remarks that, although he had attempted to preserve the
authentic diction of the time, he edited out offensive names such as ‘kaffer’, ‘meid’, ‘hotnot’
and so forth (2001: 4). Although understandable, it is a pity that prevailing political
correctness induces this kind of apology which, ironically, draws attention to racism in a
historical era which derives its unique character precisely from the sum total of its social and
historical determinants, be they good or bad. Walter Benjamin’s famous quote comes to mind:
There is no document of civilization which is not at the same time a document
of barbarism. […] There is no escaping it: if we want the monuments, the
documents we must value, we must preserve them in spite of their evil
64
associations, and find ways of showing that their value somehow persists in our
changed world. So we have to somehow place them in relation to one another;
and the way we do that will help to determine our attitude to the past. (in
Walder 1990: 20)
Yet, no matter how convincingly Bosman and others might argue for neutrality or
cultural value, their attempts at depoliticising or romanticising the word ‘kaffir’ have not
gained much ground against popular ideas. The political atmosphere in South Africa has
charged this word with too many negative connotations. Bosman’s work has remained
popular, but its enduring success has also perpetuated the use of this word that had since
undergone semantic mutations to the effect that it is now deemed politically incorrect and
offensive. Many of Bosman’s readers who are, on the one hand, oblivious of his historical
interpretation of the word ‘kaffir’ and who, on the other hand, perhaps do not fully understand
that when Bosman uses the word in a negative sense it is often couched in deep irony, have
misconstrued his work as racist. However, there can be no doubt that in “Die Kaffertamboer”
Bosman associates ‘kaffer’ with a rich culture steeped in ancient mysteries.
Romantic images abound in Bosman’s work. Mythical and mystical elements such as
the stars, the moon as well as ethereal and spectral figures roaming the African landscape all
contribute to Bosman’s unique rendition of African Romanticism. None of his short stories,
however, constitute a truer response to the notion of celebrating the spirit, mystery and lore of
darkest Africa than “Die Kaffertamboer.” None of his short stories offer a stronger indictment
of the white man’s ignorance about African anthropology and its rootedness in prehistoric
symbolism, tradition and myth. The most outstanding and interesting feature of this story,
however, is that, by writing this story in Afrikaans only, Bosman not only aligns the
backwater characters of the Marico – people of the soil and the veld – more closely to the
65
spirit of Africa than the Europeans or ‘Uitlanders’, but also proudly associates himself with
them.
4.4.2 “My Eerste Liefde”
De Kock explains that the stories in the Verborge Skatte collection follow the chronology of
their original publication, except for “My Eerste Liefde.” This story actually comes sixth in
chronological terms. He (De Kock) says that “‘My Eerste Liefde’ is given the berth of final
story here because the action takes place in the 1920s, while the other stories in this collection
belong to an earlier period in South African history” (2001: 192; my emphasis). Interesting
detail in the story itself appears to confirm De Kock’s reasons for locating it in this time
frame. Because the story does not start with the customary “Oom Schalk Lourens het gesê”,
one assumes that either Bosman himself or Oom Schalk, by implication, is the narrator.
However, as one reads on, an unexpected twist is revealed: it is a boy, Schalk (Oom Schalk’s
son?), who tells the story of his first love and how he met her while taking around the school
master, Herklaas Huysmans (Herman Bosman?), on the mule-cart to do house calls at the
families of schoolchildren. He was ordered to do so by his father (Oom Schalk?). Schalk feels
that his father might have benefited more from Mnr. Huysmans’s company as his father had
had only six months of schooling, but that he (Schalk) does not dare mention these thoughts
because, “[m]y vader was ʼn man met die hoogste geleerdheid in die Marico wat betref die
hantering van ’n kort stukkie gebreide beesriem” (1948h: 4).
This extraordinary story is filled with Bosman’s typical dry humour and satirical jabs
at society. Bosman was known to despise self-righteous attitudes based on academic learning.
66
He believed that wisdom comes from experience, that true art is the only teacher and that book
learning does not guarantee nobility of character. In “My Eerste Liefde” Bosman embraces
these truths through a skilful comparison of the illiterate Marico farmers and the schoolteacher
with his academic learning. He exposes the latter as a pretentious and immoral buffoon who
imparts useless information while taking advantage of the salt-of-the-earth people of the
Marico. The story’s narrative traces Bosman’s familiar storylines: as Schalk falls in love the
humorous strain changes when, in a tragic turn towards the end and in true gothic style, Schalk
is forlornly left with the ghost of the girl he once loved. For Bosman the Marico is a mystical
space under the moon and the stars where wispy, ethereal Letties, Driekas and Maries in
flowing white dresses – escaped from the dreams of some love-sick male – roam the veld in
the company of ghosts from the past. The eerie, melancholy atmosphere of the story’s ending
suggests the end of innocence and love lost forever.
Of greater importance, though, is the significance of “My Eerste Liefde” in the context
of Bosman’s bilingual oeuvre. It is the only short story in which Bosman reveals more than a
glimpse of Oom Schalk’s private life. It anchors the legendary old raconteur firmly in the
Marico soil and it is as if Bosman wishes to assert that Oom Schalk is not some kind of a
mythical figment of his imagination, but a flesh-and-blood Marico inhabitant. Oom Schalk is
illiterate, like everybody else; he has a farm, a son and a strong sense of duty to his fellow
men. He extends the customary Afrikaner hospitality to the new schoolmaster and his son
knows that, if he refuses to carry out his father’s orders, the customary corporal punishment –
flogging with an ox-riem – is inevitable. The manner in which Bosman confirms Oom
Schalk’s insider role in Afrikaans seems almost to represent a symbolic offering of the
67
legendary old storyteller to Afrikaans literature thereby affirming, at the same time, Bosman’s
own commitment to an inclusive South African literature.
4.5 Language
Gibbens argues that Afrikaans was still in its infancy by the turn of the nineteenth century. She
provides useful background information to the historical and political turmoil around the
‘Afrikaanse Taalbeweging’ at that stage:
The contact between Afrikaans and English dates back to 1806 when Lord
Charles Somerset introduced English to the Dutch community and began to
attempt to anglicise them. In 1806 he proclaimed English as the official
language of South Africa. This act was met with severe hostility and bitterness
by the Dutch community. Sir John Cradock supported the anglicisation in 1813
and in 1820 the British settlers found their way into the continent. They
brought with them their English language and European customs. […]
In 1875 the GRA (Genootskap van Regte Afrikaners) was founded and
operated under the guidance of S. J. du Toit. Members of the organisation
exerted themselves to defend the cause of Afrikaans and to promote Afrikaans
as standard language. They published their assumptions and principles in Die
Afrikaanse Patriot. [….]
Differences within the movement which made themselves felt revolved
around the matter of Afrikaans and Dutch. President Kruger’s policy entailed
the fostering of Dutch as opposed to Eugene Marais’s policy that advocated the
use of Afrikaans. […] Afrikaans and Dutch were both employed by the South
African speech community and Dutch was initially regarded as the high variety
and Afrikaans as the low variety.
68
[T]he struggle to foster the emergence of Afrikaans also turned out to
be intimately connected with politics, a statement which rings true when
considering the scorched-earth policy used by the British forces during the
latter part of the Anglo–Boer War in 1899–1902. The direct effect of this
policy was the fanatic, xenophobic aversion of Boers to everything English,
including the English language. […] It was only in 1909 that English and
Afrikaans enjoyed equal status as official languages and in 1925 Afrikaans
became the official language. (1992: 53-55)
A study of Afrikaans pieces published at the time, whether official documents, letters
or literature, bears out Gibbens’s proposition that Afrikaans was still in the early stages of its
evolution. Despite a tenacious will to come into its own – mirrored by a proliferation of
worthy literary offerings – many etymological and other traces, revealing its recent contact
with Dutch and English, are still evident in Afrikaans grammar, sentence construction,
phraseology and idiom. A reading of literary manuscripts (including eminent writers’) makes
the contemporary Afrikaans reader marvel at the archaic and old-fashioned feel of it (not to
mention what s/he perceives as serious grammatical errors!). A brief look at excerpts from
D. F. Malherbe’s typescript of the short story “By die Bad” reveals an inkling of the
astonishing disjunction between the refined product of a dynamic linguistic progression –
modern Afrikaans – and the grammatically pedestrian (yet quaint and colourful) Afrikaans of
the early twentieth century (Malherbe was a professor of Afrikaans literature at the University
of the Orange Free State):
1. “Toe val die tante in daar op die veranda waar ons in die koelte sit”
(Malherbe undated: 1). (Although ‘veranda’ is still acceptable, according to
69
Afrikaanse Woordelys en Spelreëls (2002: 450), the more pure Afrikaans form
‘stoep’ is preferred at present.)
2. “[…] met ’n skelmerige laggie […]” (2) (Incorrectly derived from words
such as ‘klipperige’, ‘begerige’ – ‘skelm’ or ‘skelmagtige’ are the correct
forms (Bosman, Van Der Merwe, Hiemstra 1999: 469).)
3. “Hy wil somar ’n boom uitroei.” (This is not acceptable Standard Afrikaans
anymore.)
4. “Ek voel eintlik gelukkig dat ek ’n gesprek kan afbreek.” (Incorrect
anglicistic form from ‘cut short’ or ‘cut off.’ ’n Gesprek onderbreek is correct
(Bosman, Van Der Merwe, Hiemstra 1999: 358).)
5. “En so het ek eenmaal Kaapstad toe gegaan en vandaar met die boot na
Durban – so ’n rondreis sou dit wees weer terug na Johannesburg.” (Incorrect
sentence construction as well as anglicistic words (italicised).)
Similar observations are pertinent when other manuscripts as well as other printed
material from the same era are perused. Awkward language, grammatical and literary flaws
notwithstanding, these documents are invaluable cultural treasures – touching in the honesty
and authenticity of their reflection of a momentous juncture in the history of the country, on
the one hand, and devoted application of creative talents to a developing language and
literature, on the other. It is therefore crucial that this legacy be preserved and nurtured. In this
regard, the growing trend among editors to undo previous over-zealous editorial intervention
and thereby to restore early literatures to original manuscript versions is commendable.
Throughout history the language of literature has represented a rich source of sociolinguistic information. A wealth of cultural information may be inferred from authors’ use of
language. In this regard it follows that the fireside story, by virtue of its orality, not only plays
a key role in tracing the origins of semantic structures in regional dialects to their original
speakers, but also reveals, in typically rich and colourful manner, other interesting aspects of
70
bygone cultures. In this context Bosman’s language is of considerable importance. With
regard to the local colour of Bosman’s English stories, Gibbens observes that: “It is […]
essentially ironic that the language of the oppressor is used by Bosman, an English-speaking
author, to depict so much of the South African heritage” (1992: 54; my emphasis). Gibbens
also comments on the manner in which Bosman skilfully captures the flavour of rural
Afrikaans. The unembellished spoken language of Bosman’s Marico characters reminds us of
a long-gone culture – customs, how people interacted with each other and struggled to eke out
a living on the land. Typical platteland characters such as Oom Schalk come to life in the
reader’s mind as they speak the local dialect. Fauna, flora, place names, family names and
backveld parlance paint a vivid picture of the frontier tradition. The discovery that Bosman
had translated several of these treasures into Afrikaans in a uniquely creative manner is a
welcome bonus indeed.
It is true that Bosman’s Afrikaans is not perfect and that his Afrikaans stories are
idiomatically inconsistent and grammatically flawed in places. Even his English is not
flawless. In his introduction to A Cask of Jerepigo Gray quotes Mary Morison Webster as
saying that “[Bosman] makes mistakes with his tenses, as many Afrikaners do, because he
habitually thinks not in English but in Afrikaans. True, also, there is some careless writing.
Few readers, however, in view of the quality and interest of the whole, will jib at such
blemishes” (2002a: 23). Bosman (in a letter to his cousin, Zita Grové), refers to his Afrikaans
in playful self-mockery while simultaneously needling purists whose intellectual attitude
stifles language. He deliberately makes a spelling error and mischievously comments on it. He
writes: “Ek skrywe aan jou op hierdie wyse, so breedvoerig, omdat ek voel – en sulke dinge
voel ’n mens sonder om ’n ander person goed te ken, en so ’n gevoel is altyd akuraat (meer
71
akkuraat as die spelling van hierdie woord!) […]” (1971: 119) The same sense of humour is
revealed in a letter to his friend, the prominent Afrikaans poet, Uys Krige. Kannemeyer
reports that Bosman wrote to Krige when he and his friend Gordon Vorster were in the
planning stages of an anthology of South African poetry. They had decided to reject a poem
that was sent in by Krige and had to break the news to him. Vorster started writing in a very
polite manner when Bosman snatched the paper and wrote as follows:
Liewe Uys, (that’s how you start off a letter to Uys. Now let me see. He’ll want
to know how I am.) Ek het baie siek gewees met die griep. (This is about the
most common form of Afrikaans you can write: real low-class stuff, but it’s
beautiful. Now we have to ask how he is.) Hoe gaan dit met jou? (Now to the
point.) Hierdie gedig is sommer ’n klomp kak. Jou vriend Herman. (in
Kannemeyer 2002: 399)
Nevertheless, in the light of a combination of factors – the development of the
Afrikaans language, the oral style of Bosman’s Afrikaans short stories, as well as their
redeeming literary quality – concerns about language proficiency pale considerably. What we
have here are Afrikaans stories that are unique in their cultural and literary impact and which
establishes Bosman as part of a small group of bilingual writers who have made their mark in
South African literature. Bosman’s English writing strongly suggests an ability to move
comfortably between English and Afrikaans cultures. His Afrikaans work, therefore,
represents a natural transition confirming his extraordinary literary talent and ability to
transcend ideological divides in order to affirm a common humanity. The energy and panache
with which he applied himself to writing Afrikaans leaves no doubt that, had he not died such
an untimely death, Bosman would have taken his Afrikaans writing to even greater heights.
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It is necessary to return briefly to the issue of literary editing. As mentioned, literary
editors nowadays are increasingly aware of the undesirable effects of an interventionist
approach; instead, they are seeking to preserve the authenticity of a literary work rather than
strive for a linguistically ‘pure’ product. Unlike other types of editing where it may be
acceptable that the editor become a ‘ghost writer’ of sorts, the rule in literary editing is to
adopt a careful approach – to correct sloppy writing and serious grammatical errors which
interfere with the reader’s understanding, while at the same time observing the tone and
character of the original text. It must, however, be conceded that literary editing is largely
intuitive and the literary editor often experiences difficulty in the absence of fixed guidelines
and rules. The situation is, ironically, complicated by the fact that editors are accomplished
language practitioners, well versed in grammatical ground rules as well as linguistic
developments. Therefore, they might find it it difficult to resist correcting (what are currently
regarded as) grammatical errors, an impulse they should often resist, given that such slips are
intricately part of the character of the work. In this regard, consulting sources such as
dictionaries and grammatical guides published more or less at the same time as the literary text
is useful in establishing whether or not a term or language structure is in line with prevailing
language standards and thereby ensuring that the authenticity of the work is preserved.
Against this background, the issue of the editing of Bosman’s Afrikaans stories for
Verborge Skatte calls for a brief discussion. As stated, a high premium is placed on the
preservation of the authenticity of the original text. It often transpires that re-editing is
undertaken when it is revealed that previous editors have been guilty of either careless or
interventionist editing. As Gray and MacKenzie state in their respective introductions to the
various volumes in the Anniversary Edition, this has been the case with some of the earlier
73
editions of Bosman’s work. (Abrahams’s licentious approach, discussed in Chapter 3, to the
translation of “Die Kaffertamboer” (to quote one example), is a case in point.) Gray, in his
introduction to A Cask of Jerepigo (2002: 11) refers to Bosman being “utterly enraged” with
the meddling of “fiddlers and fixers” involved in the editing process of Mafeking Road. Gray
and MacKenzie’s mission was to correct this situation by restoring many of Bosman’s stories
to their original manuscript versions. They were fortunate to have access to many of Bosman’s
English manuscripts held in the archives of the Harry Ransom Humanities Research Centre at
the University of Texas at Austin.
The situation with respect to Bosman’s Afrikaans corpus is very different. Only one
manuscript of Bosman’s Afrikaans stories has remained – that of the short story “Rivier-af
Verkoop.” In this connection, MacKenzie speculates in an e-mail message (23 January 2001)22
to De Kock that, “[Bosman] in all likelihood handed the final typescripts of these stories to the
editor of On Parade (and Trek, occasionally) who saw them into print and then discarded the
typescripts [.…] The manuscripts would not have been deemed valuable at that point (and,
indeed, would not be considered so for another fifteen years or more).” The fictional section of
Verborge Skatte was compiled entirely from publications of that time.23 As regards his editing
of these stories De Kock states that in the case of On Parade, “is dit baie duidelik dat Bosman
se kopie onveranderd setters toe gestuur is, en dat dit daar op onverskillige manier in lood
gegiet is. Bosman se tipiese foute met betrekking tot Afrikaanse tye en sinskonstruksie word
dus net so gereproduseer, met setfoute bygevoeg. Van proeflees en sorgvuldige regmaak van
foute was daar duidelik min sprake in die druk van Bosman se verhale in On Parade” (2001:
185). He goes on to say that he adopted a policy of applying the kind of editing that Die Ruiter
and Die Brandwag used in preparing Bosman’s stories.
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Although I agree with many of De Kock’s arguments and acknowledge the amount of
research and work preceding the publication of Verborge Skatte, a few nagging problems beg
attention. Firstly, and most importantly, De Kock states that “all that remains of [Bosman’s]
Afrikaans stories are the published versions in Die Ruiter, Die Brandwag and On Parade”
(2001: 207). Dickson’s bibliography (1981: 367) confirms that this is not the case. An undated
typed carbon copy manuscript of the short story “Rivier-af Verkoop” is kept at the Harry
Ransom Humanities Research Centre in Texas. Although, admittedly, one manuscript is not
much, a study of this manuscript reveals many interesting aspects and in the context of the
bigger (Bosman) picture – too often pieced together by means of mere speculation – an
authentic piece of evidence such as this gains considerable importance.
Comparing, for instance, this manuscript copy with copies of manuscripts of eminent
Afrikaans writers such as Leipoldt, D. F. Malherbe and C. M. Van den Heever (listed in
bibliography), one is surprised to discover how few serious grammatical errors occur in
“Rivier-af Verkoop.” As indicated, one should not be tempted to apply modern linguistic
standards to these texts. I am, therefore, skeptical about the ‘corrections’ that De Kock made –
based, as he reports to Etienne Bloemhof (e-mail 13 July 2001)24 – on electronic searches via
the web. It is unlikely that ‘electronic searches’ may contribute towards enlightening an editor
as to how to ‘correct’ Afrikaans grammar in literature produced in the first half of the
twentieth century. To apply current linguistic norms is not acceptable, since the oral style of
this short story genre should encourage a freer approach with grammar than is usual. (Oom
Schalk, as confirmed in the short story “My Eerste Liefde”, has spent all of six months on the
school benches!)
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De Kock mentions, in a note written to Bloemhof 25 that he consulted a dictionary with
regard to the correct spelling of ‘jongkêrel’ and ‘jong man.’ He does not state which
dictionary was consulted – a concern which is immaterial because Oom Schalk Lourens’s
speech does not have to conform to dictionary standards. Moreover, a study of the stories in
which these words appear – “Die Voorval by Ijzerspruit”, “Ou Liedjies en Ou Stories”, “Die
Ordelike Dansparty”, Verborge Skatte”, “Sterlig oor die Veld” and “Die Rooibaadjie” –
suggests that Bosman had his reasons for writing ‘jongman’ as one word. In “Die Ordelike
Dansparty” it is quite evident that he uses ‘jongman’ as a variant for ‘jongkêrel.’ By replacing
‘jongman’ with ‘jong man’, Bosman’s meaning is altered! In fact, all references consulted (see
bibliography) give ‘jongkêrel’ as a variant of ‘jongman.’
De Kock’s editing is furthermore inconsistent. He retains old forms and colloquialisms
such as “sjambok” (2001: 86),“pampier” (87), “veiligheidspeld” (86) and “in ʼn reguit lyn
noordelik van Abjaterskop” (86), but makes unnecessary emendations, such as changing
“Gedurende die maande” to “Gedurende dié tyd” (87). Not only is this ‘correction’
unnecessary, but it would seem that Bosman’s repetition of the word ‘maande’ in this story, is
functional in that a long stretch of time is stressed. Many such ‘corrections’ are made
throughout the collection. For example, at the beginning of “Glansrykheid uit Ramoutsa” Oom
Schalk states: “Al weet hulle almal dat ek beter stories kan vertel as enigiemand anders. Ver
beter” (1949: 9; my emphasis). De Kock’s edited version reads “Baie beter” (2001: 98) –
Oom Schalk’s words (though anglicistic) are changed and the emphasis that “ver” provides is
lost. In spoken language the vowel in ‘ver’ is often emphasised and the ‘r’ rolled for emphasis.
Presumably, this is why Bosman opted for this word.
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In the story “Rivier-af Verkoop”, De Kock’s editing is unacceptably interventionist.
Consider the following comparison (note the fluency and rhythm of the first passage – the On
Parade version – despite grammatical errors):
En nadat hulle die gordyn opgetrek het vir die eerste bedryf van André Maritz
se toneelstuk het hulle agtergekom dat ’n hout-afdak bokant die verhoog belaai
was met fyn meelblom wat deur die plafon van die meule langsaan gesif het.
Die toneelgeselskap wat twee jaar vantevore gebruik van die saal gemaak het,
het daardie afdak opgerig. Hulle het daarvandaan stukkies papier afgegooi om
soos sneeu te lyk, vir ’n toneel waarin ’n meisie die wye wêreld uitgestoot word
met ’n baba in haar arms. (1949h: 5)
(This published version is, incidentally, almost identical to the manuscript version). Compare
the Verborge Skatte (91) version of the same passage:
Nadat hulle die gordyn opgetrek het vir die eerste bedryf van André Maritz se
toneelstuk, het hulle agtergekom dat ’n houtafdak bokant die verhoog belaai is
met fyn meelblom wat deur die plafon van die meule langsaan sif. Die afdak is
opgerig deur die toneelgeselskap wat twee jaar vantevore die saal gebruik het.
Hulle het dit gebruik om stukkies papier af te gooi wat soos sneeu lyk, vir ’n
toneel waarin ’n meisie in die wye wêreld uitgestoot word met ’n baba in haar
arms. (my emphases)
Reading De Kock’s edited version aloud attests to a distortion of the original rhythm of
the passage. De Kock quite correctly inserts missing punctuation and corrects a syntactical
error. But why, at the end of the first sentence, is the tense changed? Bosman’s use of “was”
is correct in stating that the stage was covered with flour. It is clear that Bosman is not using
the passive voice here. And why is “gesif het” replaced with “sif”? Although Bosman’s
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grammar might not have been correct, this is not a serious error. The main problem, though, is
the editing of the third sentence. Although Bosman’s use of the word “daarvandaan” is not
entirely grammatically correct, it is obvious that he wants to stress the position (he links it to
the “afdak” in the previous sentence) from where the papers were strewn. The On Parade
version, therefore, states the situation more clearly!
Notwithstanding cases of over-zealous editing, Verborge Skatte, the first collection in
book form of Bosman’s Afrikaans writing, is an important contribution to South African
literature. It is recommended that future editors of the Afrikaans short stories restore them to
their On Parade versions 26 and that only serious grammatical errors be corrected (according to
linguistic standards of the time). It is important that the manuscript of “Rivier-af Verkoop” is
consulted and used as a key. In this respect it should be noted that “Rivier-af Verkoop” was
presumably written at a later stage (it was first published in August 1949), when Bosman’s
Afrikaans had had a chance to improve. His Afrikaans is clearly more idiomatic than it was in
earlier stories. It is also one of the stories that, according to publishing dates, might have been
written in Afrikaans first (“Sold Down the River” was published in September 1949). It is
interesting that all the stories presumed to have been written in Afrikaans first are of superior
idiomatic quality to the translated ones. (Composing a story and thinking in a medium – as
opposed to translating into it – clearly makes a difference). It would also be safe to assume
that, if Planjé did not edit one story heavily, he would not have done so to the other stories. In
fact, in the light of Bosman’s extreme dissatisfaction with Mafeking Road’s editing as well as
speculation that he was unhappy with the editing carried out at the offices of Die Ruiter and
Die Brandwag, Bosman was unlikely to have conceded to his stories being “fiddled and fixed
with”, as Gray so aptly puts it (2002: 11). Although it is true, as De Kock (2001: 195) states,
78
that some sloppiness prevailed in the On Parade editing office – especially with regard to
technical presentation – to say that Bosman’s Afrikaans stories were in a “parlous state” is an
exaggeration.
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Conclusion
A feeling of contrition, almost shame, came stealing over me while I read: that I hadn’t seen
how good Herman really was while he was still alive.” Uys Krige (in Kannemeyer 2002: 399)
In his article “Bosman’s Marico Allegory: A Study in Topicality” (1977: 83), Gray proposes
that “Bosman was the first major South African writer to publish in South Africa for South
Africans.” He mentions writers such as Alan Paton, Doris Lessing, Sarah Gertrude Millin and
Nadine Gordimer and the names of their overseas publishers and quotes David Wright as
saying that “it seemed extraordinary that stuff as good as this should be published in
Johannesburg and not in London” (in Gray 1977: 83). Gray goes on to say that “Bosman was
willing to forego international recognition in order to become more regionally potent. His
priority audience was always South African, and he foresaw that ‘writing local’ was more
meaningful than aiming at some vague international audience that he knew well enough, and
had found to be of no immediate relevance” (83). Uys Krige, eminent Afrikaans and bilingual
writer and poet regarded Bosman as “die Suid-Afrikaanse skrywer by uitstek wat die humor
van die Transvaalse Afrikaner in sy werk tot uitdrukking bring” (in Kannemeyer 2002: 39899). Bosman himself asserts his commitment to writing South African in his first editorial as
literary editor of The South African Opinion (April 1944: 25). He laments the state of South
African literature and especially the fact that in a cultural sense “our literature has so far been
colonial literature” and that many witers wrote with an eye on the overseas market “angling
for the accolade of overseas recognition.” He lays out guidelines for an indigenous South
African literature and asserts his own literary mission as follows:
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The place for South African literature to take root is here. […] Here in South
Africa. It must grow up from the granite of our pavements, from the sunstricken soul of our veld. […] it must be created here. It must be born here out
of the minds and the blood of our writers. And it must here be transformed into
the magic of the printed word. […] A common culture, virile with the warmth
and mystery of the earth, is the strongest bond there is for knitting the
heterogenous elements composing a nation into a strong united whole. The love
for a common intellectual heritage, sprung from the one soil, is the greatest
single unifying influence in a nation: it is a chain whose links do not grow
tarnished with the centuries. (26)
Reading Bosman’s mission statement now, one cannot but marvel at the visionary
quality of his focus on the real issues in South African literature. Not only does he display a
clear sense of future direction, but he also shows the way in his own writing.
One does not need to re-assess the value of Bosman’s contribution to South African
English literature. As has already been remarked, through the publication of the Anniversary
Edition of his work Bosman continues to shine and gain even greater relevance in a South
African context. (It should also be noted in this regard that his most famous work Mafeking
Road has not been out of print since its first publication in 1947.) The conservation of cultural
treasures becomes more important as globalisation threatens to homogenise everything,
including literature, and Bosman’s plea for the development of a common indigenous
literature binding together and accommodating the heterogeneity of all our cultures is more
meaningful now than ever before.
Regarding Bosman’s ‘recently discovered’ Afrikaans writing, De Kock poses a critical
question: “Is Bosman then to be considered an Afrikaans writer as well as an English writer?
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[…] Do these Afrikaans stories mean that a small but significant correction must be made in
the known topography of Afrikaans literature, and by implication in the shape of South
African letters as a whole?” (2001: 196). He goes on to document his own observations with
regard to the significance of Bosman’s Afrikaans short stories and essays and suggests a
revaluation of Bosman’s place in South African literature: that is, a revaluation that fully
accounts for all aspects – including the bilingual dimension – of his work. He (De Kock) is
convinced that this is merely a question of producing evidence through research. However, he
concedes that: “Much work lies ahead for writers of dissertations, who will be able to lay out
the evidence at greater leisure” (210). It is hoped that this study represents a meaningful
response to this call and that some evidence leading towards an unequivocal ‘yes’ to De
Kock’s questions has been provided through a contextualising of Bosman’s Afrikaans short
stories in relation to his short story oeuvre, on the one hand, and South African literature, on
the other. Such a contextualisation, it is hoped, has produced new perpectives and a basis for
revaluation.
Several aspects stand out when this ‘new’ dimension to Bosman’s writing is
considered. Bosman’s Afrikaans short story oeuvre is valuable beyond concerns about its
volume and linguistic standards. In fact, its linguistic quality is – measured against the main
body of literary offerings in a developing language (Afrikaans) – surprisingly
idiomatic and up to standard. Therefore, he joins a select group of bilingual witers in South
African literature such as Uys Krige, C. Louis Leipoldt, Langenhoven and Andre P. Brink.
Lastly, the content of his literary vision is so progressive that it can be proposed that he has
shown the way for writers who aspire in their writing to be what Hennie Aucamp dubs
“mediators between the two literatures” (1972: 65; my translation).
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The value of Bosman’s Afrikaans stories lies in their literary quality as well the fact
that Bosman boldly took up the challenge of writing Afrikaans although he knew that it would
not be an easy task at all. He rose to the occasion and proved beyond any doubt that he clearly
understood all the implications of a move from one culture to another. He produced a
collection of creatively conceived stories, translations and adaptions that make their impact
through the (apparently) seamless manner in which they bridge the gap between English and
Afrikaans. In this way, Bosman, as an English writer, journalist and literary commentator,
proved his love of Afrikaans, a truly indigenous language that has “sprung from the raw earth
of Africa” (1981b: 101) (as he so eloquently put it), and set an example for other writers on
how two literatures (and cultures) in one country may meet, intersect and include each other.
He also has a message – startlingly appropriate, still – for South African English readers:
For the English-speaking South African who has not yet made aquaintance with
present-day Afrikaans literary developments we recommend a tentative venture
into this field. He will find himself before the portals of a fascinatingly strange
world, filled with what seems to be almost inexhaustible riches. There is
nothing more exotic than what is lying just at hand. (1944: 26)
Among Afrikaans writers, Bosman stands out by virtue of the satirical quality of his
writing. Keeping outside of any prevailing ideological discourse, Bosman was afforded a
bird’s eye view of society, and this prevented him from mythologising the Afrikaner and the
frontier tradition. In this respect the Afrikaans short stories by Bosman discussed in this study
have, in ironic-satirical value, no equivalent in Afrikaans literature – until the 1960s, that is.
The title of H. P. Van Coller’s essay “Die Afrikaanse Plaasroman as Ideologiese Refleksie van
die Politieke en Sosiale Werklikheid in Suid-Afrika” assumes that the ‘plaasroman’ in
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Afrikaans is an ideological reflection of the political and social realities in South Africa. He
traces the development of the ‘plaasroman’ genre from the early days to the ‘Sestigers’, the
literary movement of the sixties with its members, Etienne Leroux, André P. Brink and Karel
Schoeman, and their successors, Elsa Joubert, Etienne Van Heerden and Alexander Strachan.
He argues that the frontier tradition was mythologised (as discussed in Chapter 2) in Afrikaans
literature until the ‘rebels of sixty’ launched their deconstruction of this sub-genre. Driven by
frustration about political injustices, censorship and the concomitant impoverishment of arts
and literature, they wanted to expose the farm as a breeding ground for and symbolic
representation of a corrupt and unjust social system. Van Coller (1995: 27–30) offers
interesting observations about the manner in which these writers set about their mission to
demystify the frontier tradition. About Leroux’s Sewe Dae by die Silbersteins (1962), he states
that the ground morals and values of the traditional ‘plaasroman’ are perverted and that a “line
is drawn” through the farm as an idyllic space. In Karel Schoeman’s novel, Lug vol Helder
Wolke (1967), mythical hero-figures are presented as senile and tyrannical; men as
domineering and women as overbearing or oppressed. Etienne Van Heerden’s Toorberg
(1986) places everyone – antecedents, descendants, white and black – in the universal mystery
of life and death, while Alexander Strachan debunks the traditional plaasroman genre through
metafictional commentary in his Die Jakkalsljagter (1990). In this context, one cannot but see
that Bosman was one of the forerunners of this literary movement. All the themes and satirical
angles of these eminent canonical writers are in evidence in his body of Afrikaans short
stories. It is, therefore, up to the Afrikaans literary establishment, some of who (as indicated
earlier in this study) have already extended a warm welcome to Bosman’s Afrikaans stories, to
demonstrate the rich literary interest represented by these stories. After the publication of
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Verborge Skatte these stories are more conspicuous in their absence from Afrikaans short
story collections (for example, Daniël Hugo’s Tydskrif volumes) and Afrikaans literary
historiography than ever before and this situation should be addressed and corrected for the
benefit of Afrikaans and South African literature.
As regards Bosman’s place among bilingual writers of South Africa, many interesting
aspects emerge. It is a known fact that there are very few truly bilingual (English/Afrikaans)
writers in this country. Names such as Krige, Leipoldt, Langenhoven and Brink come to mind.
Even fewer writers have been known to translate their own writing (Brink is the exception
here). In literary translation theory, the importance placed by certain theorists on ‘cultural’
translations or ‘transculturation’, as it is known, is constantly in conflict with theories of
‘equivalence.’ This problem, however, may be overcome when a writer translates his own
work. He may adapt, change, insert and omit as much as he pleases to render his translation
‘right’ for the target culture. Bosman’s translations are prime examples of transculturation in
literary translation and can be used fruitfully in translation studies. The manner in which he
manipulates stylistic devices such as irony, satire and humour to be ‘right’ for the target
culture without sacrificing literary quality opens up an entirely new and rich perspective on
this aspect in South African literature.
This study has taken up the challenge posed by De Kock to “lay out the evidence” of
Bosman’s important ventures into Afrikaans “at greater leisure” (2001: 210) than De Kock
had at his disposal. The inherent literary quality of Bosman’s Afrikaans stories has been
argued for and demonstrated; his love for, and grasp of, Afrikaans has been illustrated; and his
place in (reconfigured) Afrikaans literary historiography has been asserted. Bosman delighted
in rocking establishments – literary, political, social or otherwise. His return to the Afrikaans
85
fold is yet another surprise that he has yielded from the grave. It is entirely appropriate that he
should have returned to take his place in Afrikaans literature at a time when Afrikaans culture
is – probably for the first time in South African history – free to claim its rightful place in a
democratic dispensation. There can be little doubt that he would have approved.
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Appendix
The following list includes, in chronological order, Bosman’s Afrikaans and English short
stories and their equivalents published between 1948 and 1952.
“Dopper and Papist”, Trek, March 1948.
“Die Voorval by Ijzerspruit”, Die Ruiter, 2 April 1948.
“Dit Spook by die Drif”, Die Brandwag, 16 April 1948.
“Die Spook by die Drif”, On Parade, 29 April 1948 (published as “Dit Spook by die Drif” in
Die Brandwag, 16 April 1948).
“Op Kommando teen Majodja”, On Parade, 20 August 1948.
“Vreemde Besoekers”, On Parade, 17 September 1948 (Afrikaans version of “Visitors to
Platrand” in The South African Opinion, 1 November 1935).
“Met die Dagbreek”, On Parade, 6 November 1948 (Afrikaans version of “Dopper and
Papist”, Trek, March 1948).
“My Eerste Liefde”, On Parade, 26 November 1948.
“Great Uncle Joris”, Trek, December 1948 (English version of “Op Kommando teen
Madjodja” in On Parade, 20 August 1948 and “Jan Bezuidenhout se Oorlogservaring”
in On Parade, 14 January 1949).
“Tot Stof”, On Parade, 21 December 1948.
“Jan Bezuidenhout se Oorlogservaring”, On Parade, 14 January 1949 (published as “Op
Kommando teen Madjodja” in On Parade, 20 August 1948).
“Unto Dust”, Trek, February 1949 (English version of “Tot Stof”, On Parade, 21 December
1948).
“Die Kaffertamboer”, On Parade, 11 February 1949.
“Die Ordelike Dansparty”, On Parade, 25 February 1949 (earlier English version, “Thorn
Trees in the Wind”, in The South African Opinion, 28 November, 1936).
“Marico Moon”, Trek, April 1949 (another publication of the previous story).
“Ontmoetingsplek aan die Vaal”, On Parade, 13 May 1949.
“Die Ferreira Miljoene”, On Parade, 29 July 1949.
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“Rivier-af Verkoop”, On Parade 30 August 1949 (Afrikaans version of “Sold Down the
River” – see next entry).
“Sold Down the River”, The South African Jewish Times, September 1949 (English version of
Rivier-af Verkoop”).
“Ou Liedjies en Ou Stories”, On Parade, 13 September 1949. (The English version, in the
form of a typed manuscript, was posthumously published as “The Selons-Rose in Unto
Dust (1963).
“Die Kaffertamboer”, On Parade, 11 October 1949 (second publication).
“Die Glansrykheid uit Ramoutsa”, On Parade, 29 November 1949 (Afrikaans version of
“Splendours from Ramoutsa” published in Mafeking Road (1947).
“Sterlig oor die Veld”, On Parade, 20 December 1949 (Afrikaans version of “Starlight on the
Veld” in The South African Opinion, 10 January 1936).
“Die Begrawe Miljoene”, On Parade, 17 January 1950 (published as “Die Ferreira Miljoene”
in On Parade, 29 July 1949).
“Die Rooibaadjie”, On Parade, 10 February 1950.
“The Ferreira Millions”, The Forum 1 April 1950 (The English version of “Die Ferreira
Miljoene”, On Parade, 29 July 1949 and “Die Begrawe Miljoene” On Parade, 17
January 1950 (published here as an April fool’s joke).
“Ontmoeting by die Rivier” On Parade, 26 September 1950 (published as “Ontmoetingsplek
aan die Vaal” in On Parade, 13 May 1949).
“Verborge Skatte”, On Parade, 27 January 1951 (published as “Die Ferreira Miljoene (On
Parade, 29 July 1949) and “Die Begrawe Miljoene” (On Parade, 17 January 1950).)
“Die Ordelike Dansparty”, On Parade, 30 April 1951 (previously published in On Parade, 25
February 1949).
“Die Kaffertamboer”, On Parade, 24 August 1951 (third publication).
“Die Glansrykheid uit Ramoutsa”, On Parade, 29 September 1951 (second publication).
“Glansverhaal uit Ramoutsa se Winkel”, On Parade, 31 March 1952 (third publication).
“Die Storie van die Rooibaadjie”, On Parade, 30 May 1952 (published as “Die Rooibaadjie in
On Parade, 10 February 1950).
“Die Kaffertamboer” On Parade, 29 July 1952 (fourth publication)
88
Notes
1. ‘Joiner’ was the term for Afrikaners who supported the British in the Anglo–Boer war.
According to Valerie Rosenberg (1991: 11–17), Piet Malan (Herman’s grandfather) and his
family who had moved from the Western Cape to the town of Potchefstroom in the Transvaal,
were Milner supporters whose liberal-mindedness is demonstrated by the fact that Charles, the
eldest son, fought on the British side during the Anglo–Boer War and Herman’s mother sent
him to Potchefstroom College to be educated in English, his second language.
2. Bosman wrote many essays, articles and literary commentary in English and Afrikaans for
periodicals such as The South African Opinion and Trek. These pieces clearly demonstrate his
views on South African culture and literature and what he felt future directions ought to be.
They also serve to showcase his wide general knowledge and literary interest as well as his
proficiency at journalistic and academic idiom in English and Afrikaans. Unfortunately, the
constraints of this study necessitate the exclusion of these pieces in favour of their fictional
counterparts. A selection of these writings has been included in the latter part of Verborge
Skatte.
3. Rosenberg devotes one sentence to Bosman’s Afrikaans writing: “Besides his contributions
to Trek, by early 1948 Bosman had begun publishing Afrikaans versions of his Schalk
Lourens stories in the magazines Brandwag and Ruiter; but his output was slender and his
creative energy channelled in order of priority” (1991: 207).
4. “My Eerste Liefde” is narrated by a boy, Schalk, who – if one presumes Mnr. Herklaas
Huysmans to be a fictional representation of Herman Bosman himself – one can safely assume
is Oom Schalk’s son. Although, in “Die Kaffertamboer”, Oom Schalk Lourens does not
introduce himself in the customary way at the beginning of the story, the characteristic
narrative style convinces the reader that it is indeed the old raconteur spinning his yarns.
89
5. It is logical that a shift in balance within the frame structure of the story occurs when
attitudes and relationships between the ‘mainstays’ of the frame – implied narrator, frame
narrator, implied audience, reader – change. In this case, the shift occurs automatically, as a
result of translation into a different medium/culture. It is also possible that, as a result of the
Afrikaner having acquired distance from the material historically, the original balance of the
frame structure might be restored.
6. Although Bosman’s satire is much ‘softer’ in the Afrikaans version, his unconventional
angle on war and heroism would no doubt have been sufficiently evident to have raised a few
eyebrows among some members of Die Ruiter’s more patriotic readers!
7. The story “Cometh Comet” in Lionel Abrahams’s Unto Dust collection relates the
circumstances surrounding a certain Engelbrecht family who trekked from the SchweizerReineke district during a drought. This story’s historical setting chronologically locates its
action after that of “The Affair at Ijzerspruit.” The family in “Cometh Comet” may therefore
be Ouma Engelbrecht’s offspring since the family name, Hans (Johannes), appears in both
stories. Perhaps Bosman – generally quite careless about genealogy, chronology and precise
historical details – changed “Engelbrecht” to “Botha” when the story was selected for
publication in Die Ruiter. Because the narrative concerns the doings of a traitor, Bosman’s
using a common South African family name such as ‘Botha’ may have ensured that a specific
family did not take offence. This may not have been the case with a less common name such
as ‘Engelbrecht.’
8. Pakenham (1979: 549) records a skirmish at “Yzer Spruit.” It is known that Bosman
showed concern for historical details only in as far as they served his fictional purposes.
Therefore, his naming of historical places or account of events should not be relied upon too
heavily. In the case of this story, however, Bosman appears to have done his homework. He
relates how Ouma Botha’s story touched his heart: “[…] die geveg by Ijzerspruit het weer
voor my gelewe – Kemp en De la Rey en die buitgemaakte Engelse konvooi, […]” (1948b:
43). Pakenham’s version reads: “After two months of desultory manoeuvring, the hunters at
last came in touch with the hunted – and for the British the results were utterly disastrous. On
90
24 February [1902], at Yzer Spruit, De la Rey swooped on a wagon convoy belonging to
Liutenant-Colonel S. B. Von Donop” (1979: 549). It is strangely incongruous, though, that in
the Ruiter publication, the title of the story is “Die Voorval by Ijzerspruit.” The first sentence,
however, refers to “die skermutseling by Yzerspruit” (7) and on p. 43 “IJzerspruit” (sic) again.
(De Kock (2001: 35) opted for “Ijzerspruit” throughout the story in Verborge Skatte). Was this
sloppiness on Bosman’s or his editor’s part? Until the manuscript of this story is found, this
will remain a mystery. The fact that the English story uses the name “Yster-Spruit” is not
extraordinary (Bosman often ‘translates’ proper names from one publication to the next) but
for the fact that Bosman opted, in most cases, to code-switch the other way round, namely the
Dutch spelling in his English stories and the Afrikaans equivalent in his Afrikaans stories.
9. Bosman did not attach negative connotations to the word ‘kaffir.’ He states this in his essay,
“Aspects of S.A. Literature” quoted in the discussion of “Die Kaffertamboer”. Therefore, he
calls the wars against the indigenous tribes ‘Kaffir Wars’ – a translation of the Afrikaans
‘Kafferoorloë.’
10. One could argue that Die Ruiter might have removed these passages. However,
considering the fact that “Die Rooibaadjie”, published in On Parade (one can safely assume
that the liberal-minded Planjé would not have bothered to remove politically offensive
passages), has the same deletions, this argument does not hold water; particularly when
considering that Bosman enjoyed paring down, editing and adapting his own stories. This
interesting technique is discussed by MacKenzie in his essay, “‘Simple Unvarnished Tales’? A
Case Study of H. C. Bosman’s Writerly Technique” (unpublished).
11. Bosman distorts historical facts of the Battle of Bronkhortspruit. According to an editor’s
note to G. R. Duxbury’s article in the Journal of the South African Military History Society,
the Battle of Bronkhorstspruit was also called “The Bronkhortspruit ambush” and “The
massacre of Bronkhorstpruit.” He mentions that The Times had described it as “cold-blooded
murder of British troops.” It seems that although the British had received several warnings
about this attack, they underestimated the Boers and this particular British section was wiped
out as a result. V.E. D’Assonville reports on the battle as follows:
91
The instructions to General Frans Joubert, were to intercept a column of British
troops under Colonel Philip Anstruther who was on their way from Lydenburg
to reinforce Pretoria, 300 km distant. General Joubert sent a message to
Colonel Anstruther to halt his convoy, and if he would not agree, it would be
taken as an act of war. Anstruther’s reply was short and to the point: “I have
orders to march to Pretoria, and to Pretoria I will go!” Almost immediately the
Boers closed in on the doomed British column. In a short battle nearly all the
officers, including Anstruther, fell. In total 57 men had fallen and 100 were
wounded. On Boer side 2 were killed and 5 wounded. (1996: 5)
12. An internet site (http://pw1.netcom/ -reincke/majuba.html) relates the course of the Battle
of Majuba Hill as follows:
On the night of 26 February 1881 Major-General Sir George Colley planned to
lead a force of 650 soldiers and sailors, including 180 Gordon Highlanders to
capture a hill called Majuba. The hill was steep and it would take the soldiers
all night to accomplish the goal. At dawn the army had taken the hill and now
could see the Boer camp below. Colley became a little too comfortable with
assuming the position at the summit. Liutenant Ian Hamilton and Colonel A.D.
Macgregor suggested entrenchment, but Colley failed to do so. The Boers now
could see the soldiers at the top of Majuba and began to take action, the
commander put together a force and began to climb the steep hill. The Boers
knowing the hill very well knew how to climb the slopes and remain under
cover. The Boers came over the crest of the summit and attacked. It had been
said that the Boers were firing so rapidly that you could only see their rifles
through the smoke as they crept on. Their fire was so accurate that the British
quickly began a retreat – which soon became a rout.
This source goes on to relate that General Colley, who was asleep when the attack began, died
soon afterwards while many of his soldiers were shot in the back while fleeing. Many British
92
soldiers were killed and others taken prisoner. The Boers lost only one soldier. “Remember
Majuba” became a Boer slogan during the early stages of the Second Boer War. In an
eyewitness report included in James Cromb’s The Majuba Disaster: A Story of Highland
Heroism Told by Officers of the 92nd Regiment, an officer, Captain Wright, is quoted as saying
that General Colley gave an order not to charge but to wait until the Boers crossed the open
but, in his (Wright’s) opinion “[…] the Boers were not likely to give up the advantage of their
better positions and the superiority of their many rifles” (1988: 17). He describes the rest of
the fateful battle as follows: “At last the line broke. Lieutenant Hamilton, who was close to the
General, heard him order the men to retire as best they could, but the ground was too
precipitous for an orderly retreat, and all cohesion was lost” (17). Another officer, General
Hay, reported that: “It was the crushing fire which compelled us to retire, and until we had
retired not a Boer was to be seen” (22). In other words, there appears to be no historical
evidence to support Bosman’s version of the battle of Amajuba. It is curious indeed that, if
Bosman sought to satirise Boer defeat, he did not focus on some Second Boer War battles
during which the tables were dramatically turned on the Boers by strengthened British forces.
13. In one one of his Voorkamer stories, “Casual Conversation”, Bosman touches on the
religious wars in Europe which led to the landing at the Cape of the French Huguenots. At
Naudé presents his (comically twisted) view of this historical occasion as follows: “Yes, some
pretty funny sights, I should think, down the years. Maybe, the Huguenots landing, also. You
know, French. Like old Pollyvoo at the Derdepoort mission station, jumping about and waving
his arms, all the time. I suppose that’s how the Huguenots looked, landing at the Cape …
waving their arms and jumping and calling out pollyvoo to each other” (1999: 111). In many
of his stories, Bosman tacitly supports the humanistic projects of missionaries such as old
Pollyvoo among the local black tribes while slating the two-faced attitude of the white farmers
towards these missionaries.
14. When comparing the only available manuscript copy, that of the story “Rivier-af Verkoop”
with its published version in On Parade, it would seem that Planjé undertook a negligible
amount of editing on Bosman’s stories. Bosman himself enjoyed editing and adapting his own
stories from one publication to the next. He was the eternal editor who could not resist
93
pruning, revising, changing character’s names and even titles of stories. In his essay “‘Simple
Unvarnished Tales’? A Case Study of H.C. Bosman’s Writerly Technique”, MacKenzie
remarks as follows on this (playful) self-critical side of Bosman’s authorship: “An
examination of various versions of stories by Bosman invariably reveals a tendency on the
author’s part to edit – sometimes quite ruthlessly – in order to achieve a sparse, pared-down
style and a tantalizingly elliptical quality” (2002a: 11). This is very likely to have been the
case with the story, “The Ghost at the Drift.” I do not agree with De Kock that this story has
been cut up and rendered unintelligible. In fact, the On Parade version seems to have been
given precisely the “sparse, pared-down style” and “elliptical quality” that MacKenzie refers
to. If fitting the story onto one page was a concern, it seems peculiar that On Parade had
placed a fairly large photograph of Bosman on the same page together with two prominent
advertisements.
15. This quote comes from The Book of Ruth in the Holy Bible New King James Version: 185.
16.This passage comes from The Holy Bible Containing the Old and New Testaments King
James Version 1611 A Reference Edition: 2. The Afrikaans translation is found in the old
translation of Die Bybel 1934: 3.
17. Several other references dealing with this subject, may be quoted e.g. Gen. 13:16 (8),
18:27 (11), Num. 23:10 (111`), 1 Kings 16:2 (246), Job 10:9 (351), 34:15 (363), Eccl. 3:20
(450) (New King James Version The Holy Bible).
18. The story does not explicitly present Oom Schalk as the narrator, but strongly implies
Oom Schalk’s ‘presence’ in the style and content of the story.
19. Confusion reigns with regard to this name. According to Dickson’s bibliography (1981:
365), no manuscript version of this story, in Bosman’s own hand, has been traced. The first
version, published in On Parade, 20 August 1948, is titled “Op Kommando teen Majodja.”
This seems to be a printing error because, in the body of the story, the name is given as
“Modjadja”, “Mojaja” and, at the end of the story, “Modjadja” again. In “Jan Bezuidenhout se
94
Oorlogservaring” it is given twice as “Mojadja” and once as “Modjadja”. De Kock has opted
for Modjadja in Verborge Skatte. In the English version, “Great Uncle Joris” published in Trek
(December 1948) the name is given as “Majaja.” It appears, as is quite often the case, that
Bosman’s historical facts are somewhat mixed up. The Roots of Black South Africa, by David
Hammond-Tooke, does not mention a Bechuana chief by any of these names. However, he
provides interesting facts about “Mudjadji”, the Rain Queen of the Lovedu, a Sotho-Venda
tribe and mentions that “Mudjadji” is a dynastic title that goes to all of her successors (1993:
75 – 76).
20. This story, according to Oom Schalk, deals with a battle against the Bechuanas and also
harks back to the ‘Kaffir Wars’ on the eastern border of the Cape Colony in the early
nineteenth century. De Kock’s statement that the story concerns the actions of Boer soldiers
during the Anglo-Boer War is, therefore, incorrect.
21. As mentioned, although the narrative does not explicitly state that this is an Oom Schalk
Lourens story, it is implied by the familiarity that exists between the narrator and his typical
Marico audience. However, by expressing more serious attitudes and sentiments than is usual,
Oom Schalk aligns himself closely to Bosman’s own views in “Die Kaffertamboer.”
22. This E-mail message can be found among other documents placed in the UNISA archives
by Prof. De Kock. All of these pertain to preliminary research on the Verborge Skatte project.
23. The fact that one manuscript, a carbon copy of the typescript of the story “Rivier-af
Verkoop” is held by the Harry Ransom Humanities Research Centre in Texas, was overlooked
when Verborge Skatte was compiled. This, in my opinion, is a pity because not only would it
have been good to include one manuscript version in the collection, but this manuscript could
have served as a useful key to the entire editing process.
24. A copy of this E-mail message copy is included in the UNISA archives Verborge Skatte
collection.
95
25. This is a written note appearing on a typed draft of the story “Verborge Skatte” in the
Verborge Skatte collection in the UNISA archives.
26. A comparison of the only manuscript copy available at this stage, that of the short story
“Rivier-af Verkoop”, to the On Parade version, reveals that a negligible amount of editing had
taken place. The “sloppiness” of which De Kock accuses On Parade seems, ironically, to have
been a blessing in disguise. Technical presentation was indeed sloppy. Otherwise, a laissezfaire editing policy seems to have preserved Bosman’s original stories. As has been remarked,
it is likely that the differences between the Brandwag and On Parade versions of the story
“The Ghost at the Drift” were the consequence of Bosman’s own intervention.
96
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Author and date unknown. Internet web site: http://pw1. netcom/-reincke/majuba.html. Story
based on various sources.
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