Many writers have shared their thoughts with the public:

"There is something delicious about writing the first words of a story. You never quite know where they'll take you." - Beatrix Potter

"The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say." - Anaïs Nin

"Sharing your writing, being enlarged by others' writing, is what makes you feel famous." - Gretchen Bernabei

"Writing is not an amusing occupation. It is a combination of ditch-digging, mountain-climbing, treadmill and childbirth." - Edna Ferber

"Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing." - Ben Franklin

"One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones to form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment." - Hart Crane

"There are three rules for writing. Unfortunately, no one can agree what they are." - W. Somerset Maugham

In Darkest Africa

With apologies to Rider Haggard (whose books I love) - but not to his less imaginative imitators

“Now see here Blakelthorpe, you know something of Africa don’tcha?”

“I have something of a reputation along those lines Wilberforce,” I said sipping my gin and tonic and looking over his shoulder at the new portrait of Queen Victoria on the club wall.

“Well, what do you know of the M’bongas?”

I paled somewhat. “The most blood-thirsty, ruthless people in the continent. No white man who has ever ventured into their land has returned. They are said to inflict terrible tortures and even their neighbours the N’dongas have little to do with them! So, why do you ask?”

“I had a mind to pop up there and have a look around, and hoped you would be my guide.”

“Nothing would induce me to visit that hell-hole,” I expostulated.

“I will pay the expenses and a good fee for your services of course,” said Wilberforce.

“Oh. Well. That is different then,” I said more calmly. “When do you want to start?"

“How about tomorrow?”

“I am afraid these things take longer than that to organise,” I laughed. “I have to get my gear out of pawn, and I have a poker game with the three most incompetent players in the colony tomorrow evening. How about the next day?”

“Oh, all right! No chance of me getting in on that poker game is there?” he added wistfully.

“‘Fraid not,” I replied rapidly (why should I share the spoils just because Wilberforce was my benefactor and best friend). “Why do you want to go up there anyway?”

“I’ve heard rumours that they make magnificent amber statues – should be worth pinching a couple don’t you think? If they are all I have heard it would cover expenses and return a good profit, what?”

“I too have heard stories, but they are always second or third hand. I have never seen one of the statues, or met anyone who has. I have never heard of amber in this part of Africa either. So, I have my doubts, but if you are still keen to go we will give it a try.”

“Good man! Day after tomorrow then.”

Our conversation turned to other matters and after a few more gin and tonics and winning a few pounds from him at billiards (he is a rotten player!) we parted for the night.

The next day I redeemed my kit with an advance from Wilberforce and ended the day with a profitable game of poker. In between I rounded up my boys.

They have all worked for me for years and are very loyal to me. They are all simple native boys and they willingly work for me for well below the going rate – so that would be a bit more profit on expenses from the trip.

The next morning, we hitched up the wagons with teams of well-salted oxen (if we end up eating some of them we will pepper them well too). Then off we set for the land of the M’bongas, via that of the N’dongas.

It was a very uneventful trip, pretty typical of such journeys. We did not lose more than half the native boys to lion and crocodile attacks and made such good progress that we had time for a little sport shooting and successfully exterminated a couple of local species (that always makes the trophy heads worth a bit more).

At last we reached the land of the N’dongas and headed straight for the chief’s chorale (I never could get the hang of native spelling). I speak their language fluently and was able to give him a traditional N’donga greeting:

“What-ho, what-ho, what-ho! How are tricks old bean?”

He gave the traditional reply, “Nice to see you! To see you – nice!”

We exchanged gifts. I gave him a couple of cigarette cards and an empty gin bottle – the natives prize such things. He looked at them and then rummaged through his treasure box of gifts (the native name for it is Duzz Bihn) and handed me some priceless broken imitation ivory buttons and a bag of sheep crotchings.

I explained our mission to him. He tried to dissuade us: “Much better you stay here mate. We give you good time for just half the money and trade goods you got with you.”

I insisted that we would head to the M’bongas and asked him to lend us a translator.

“Well don’t say I didn’t warn you me old china! Don’t come complaining to me when you are dead (I can’t stand dead people moaning about the place all night). But you don’t need translator, they speak the same lingo as us mate.”

Here was a bonus for me: if I did not need a translator I could make a bit more profit on the expenses.

Pausing only to refresh ourselves with a fourteen-course banquet and native cabaret, we headed on towards the forbidden land of the M’bongas.

The rest of our journey was not too long but presented many difficulties.

First there was an impenetrable jungle, which we penetrated without much difficulty.

Then there was an unfordable river which we managed to ford.

Finally, there was a vast plain on which we would surely have died of hunger and thirst but for the plentiful game and water we found.

At last we crossed into the land of the M’bongas!

Almost immediately we were surrounded by a horde of magnificent warriors.

“What you want here eh? You not salesmen are you?” asked the captain.

“No, no! We are simple explorers. We are friendly!” I told him.

“Well, we are not friendly,” he replied. “If natives are friendly to explorers, they always stay the night and we can never get rid of them! Or maybe you come here to conquer us?”

“We come in peace!”

“Well, you leave in pieces – Ho, ho!”

I think that this must have been some sort of joke, but I never could understand native humour.

The warriors marched us off to the king’s town and there we were confronted by the king and his counsellors.

I greeted the king formally, “What-ho, what-ho, what-ho! How are tricks old bean?”

“Never mind that!” he replied, “How dare you trespass on the land of the M’bongas? Don’t you know it is forbidden to white men and that none that enter here ever leave alive?”

“Well, you see...”

“SILENCE!” roared the king. “How dare you speak? Don’t you know not to answer rhetorical questions?”

He turned to his head counsellor, “What should we do with them?”

“Execute them at noon tomorrow!”

“Good advice.” He turned to the captain of the guards, “Take them away.”

We were thrown into a miserable prison cell: no drinks cabinet, only a mediocre view from the panorama window, tiny queen-size beds and the carpet was at least a year old!

“What do we do now?” asked Wilberforce, “Is our position hopeless?”

“Not at all,” I replied, “English travellers under these circumstances always have something to fall back on.”

I pulled out the Almanac and thumbed through it.

“Well! Who would have believed it!” I cried.

“What?” asked Wilberforce excitedly.

“This is unheard of, we are due to be executed exactly at noon tomorrow and there is NOT a solar eclipse at that moment!”

I thought for a moment and pondered, “I wonder if we can get the king to postpone it until 2pm?”

“Why? Is there an eclipse then?”

“No, but if we are going to die, we might as well have lunch first.”

At my request, the guard sent for the king.

“Well, what do you want now?”

“Your highness, could you put off our execution until 2pm tomorrow?”

The king scratched his head and asked, “Why do you want that? There’s not an eclipse anytime tomorrow.”

“I know,” I said, “we just thought it would be nice to have lunch first.”

The king thought for a moment. “That’s a reasonable request, but I am afraid that I cannot allow it. We have already sold most of the tickets to the grandstand and we can’t keep paying customers waiting.”

“Fair enough,” I replied, and the king wandered off.

“I guess all we can do now is trust to luck,” said Wilberforce.

“Indeed,” I replied. “How about a game of cards to pass the time?”

Wilberforce is usually a fair poker player, but that evening he didn’t seem to be concentrating well and by the time we decided to turn in I had won the contents of his wallet and a decent IOU.

The next morning the guard woke us and brought in a frugal breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, kidneys, toast, marmalade and kedgeree.

We decided to dress carefully for our fate but faced a major problem. While crossing a river the box containing our morning suits had been washed away. I had sent one of the boys to swim and retrieve it, but instead of performing this simple task he had allowed himself to be eaten by a crocodile and the box had been lost. Dashed careless of him, and most inconvenient for us! One clearly could not wear evening dress at noon, so the smartest we could make ourselves was to wear lounge suits – we hoped the natives would understand.

At 5 to 12 the guard told us it was time to go. Wilberforce and I shook hands and walked to the large open area outside of the king’s enclosure.

There a formidable sight greeted us.

The king was seated a little in front of the gate to his enclosure. Close beside him stood his head counsellor and other counsellors stood a little further off to either side. Around the arena were gathered many native men and women standing behind a ring of stern warriors. In the otherwise empty centre of the arena stood two small groups – obviously our executioners and their assistants.

We stood in our allotted places and looked towards the king. Until this point, he had feigned not to notice us, but now he looked up and spoke:

"Prepare to die, those who dare enter the land of the M’bongas... Good Gracious! You’re wearing Old Etonian ties! Were either of you in ‘Old Tuddy’s’ house?” he continued in English.

“Both of us actually,” I replied.

“Was ‘Stinko’ the Head in your time?”

“No, he retired the year before we started.”

“Ah, you were a couple of years after me then. Well, we can’t execute Old Etonians can we? You had better join me for dinner tonight, if you have suitable clothes! Not those country hike suits you are wearing now, what!”

I assured him that we had evening wear and that we would be delighted to be his guests. I saw that the head counsellor was becoming very angry at this turn of events.

“Call me ‘Snowy’, what are your names?”

Wilberforce found his tongue, “This is Blakelthorpe and I am Wilberforce.”

I looked towards the head counsellor and saw him start at our names and that he could now hardly contain his fury.

The king noticed my glance and also looked to him. “I am afraid that you have made a serious enemy here.

“Lofty here is an Old Harrovian (though I try not to embarrass him about it) and I am afraid that Wilberforce’s brother bowled him out in for 96 in the Schools Match in his final year, and he has never forgiven him. Cheer up Lofty! It was a long time ago now.”

Lofty calmed himself somewhat, but was still none too pleased – that’s what comes of not keeping the bat close to the pads I suppose.

“Now tell me, old fellows, why did you really come here?”

I decided to try an unfamiliar tack and tell the truth. “Well, we had heard rumours of marvellous amber statues and wanted to come and buy some.” Well, it was largely the truth.

The king laughed. “Is that all? Well you had better come and see where we make them.”

We followed him into a cave which was well-lit by torches. I became apprehensive when I saw bags marked “Cellulose Acetate – Beads – Amber Colour”. Then we saw long benches where native men and women were moulding statues, polishing them and packing them in crates.

“I can let you have them at wholesale prices, for fellow Etonians,” said the king. “Do you want a dozen, or more?”

“If you are producing them in such numbers, how come we never see them back at the coast?”

“Much better price on the export market – particularly selling to the Americans.”

We lapsed into silence.

“Well now there are no chances of any profit on this trip,” Wilberforce whispered to me.

“Not necessarily,” I whispered back.

I turned to the king and his counsellor, “Do either of you gentlemen play poker?”