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This excerpt from Roughing it by Ralph Goldswain, was published with permission from NB Publishers. The book is available from all leading book stores.
About the book:
Did you know the term ‘roughing it’ comes from the tent city at Algoa Bay? Or that one 1820 settler called her new home ‘the most miserable country in the world’?
This is the tale of the Settlers’ dramatic first three years in their own words. An engaging read with a delightful narrative touch.
The story told by the diaries, journals and memoirs of the settlers is skewed because it is an almost entirely male perspective. These accounts tell us little about the women’s experience.
Several women wrote to their families in Britain but, unfortunately, not many of their letters have survived or are available.
Sophia Pigot’s diary is an exception but her experience is not representative of the female settlers. Through thick and thin, Sophia was protected by her privileged position.
On the other hand, Anna Francis, the twenty-eight-year-old wife of David Francis, from Essex, who led a sub-division of Parker’s party (who were predominantly Irish), was far more representative of the women.
She did not hold back in her letters that she sent home. Most of the party had first settled in Clanwilliam but Scanlon and Francis took their groups to Albany. David and Anna Francis were allocated land at the source of the Nazaar River, near Salem.
Anna’s letters paint a dire picture of her predicament. She was married to a hard-working settler who, like many of the men, having committed to the project, accepted the conditions and was determined to make the best of their situation.
Anna, however, could do nothing but endure those conditions, and she agonised about her plight to her sister, living comfortably in Essex:
‘The sun here scorches to that degree that it burns the skin and raises blisters, exactly as if one had been in the fire, but the evenings and nights are sometimes so cold, that, after a burning day, we are shivering over a fire.
This I think the most miserable country in the world, for it produces nothing without manure, and the gardens, which we have made are all burnt up before they come to any perfection.
The whole of the wheat harvest has totally failed here and in every part of the country. . . Flour is not to be purchased at any price, except that served out by Government, and then it is most execrable stuff: there is the bread bran and the whole grains of wheat with a mixture of peas and Indian corn, but all this I would not consider for myself, as I do not eat more than would satisfy an infant.
I have been very ill for some weeks, and my spirits are dreadfully depressed; I hope time will reconcile me to my situation.
If I had society, I would endeavour to make myself easy, but there is not an English settler nearer than seven miles, and I know none of them but Mrs. Latham, who returned from Clanwilliam, with many others, chiefly Irish: he [Mr Latham] has been our frequent visitor, but he is as miserable as myself, and detests this country as much as I do.
When I reflect that it was on this day twelvemonth I parted from you, my heart is like to break! Why did I ever leave you, my poor mother and my dear Patty? Never shall I see you and my dear native country again!
I am more wretched than I can describe . . . I do not think anyone will stop a year in this wretched country that can help it . . . What will be the end of it, God only knows, but I dread the worst.
There is little short of famine now, great numbers have nothing to eat but mutton; they can get neither bread nor vegetables, and wine and spirits are all out of price.
Not an ounce of tea or sugar is to be got at Graham’s Town for ‘love or money’, except now and then, as everything is to be brought from Cape Town and the conveyance is very uncertain. We have indeed been miserably deceived, both as to the soil and the climate.
Oh, if anything would but turn up, that I once more might return to England, I would not care if I lived on bread and water, for I envy the poorest there. The wretched thought of ending my days in this savage wilderness, surrounded by wild beasts. And everything that is horrid, quite distracts me.
As for poor David, he is well in health, but almost mad to think he ever brought me to such a place. He has led the life of a slave, for as there are no enclosures, the cattle are no sooner over the hills than they are out of sight. He has lost a horse, and four bullocks, and also three sheep. Which, I suppose, were picked off by wolves.
It is the same for all the settlers; they have all lost cattle. I am afraid you think I am a croaker – but, believe me, I have not told you of half our miseries. Oh, how different from the account I first wrote to you on our arrival in this country!
But then the weather was mild, and everything seemed enchanting. I was surrounded by friends, by whom I was beloved. Now I am separated from all I ever knew, and have no hope of ever seeing them again. David seems to have no wish to return, and is only unhappy to see me in this state . . . I believe that I have never laughed since I have been here.’
While some settlers delighted in the wildlife of Albany, Anna hated it:
‘And is this the place in which I am to live out the remainder of my wretched existence? Forbid it, Heaven! I find I cannot live on such terms.
Think of my sensations when I hear the wolves howling round our dismal dwelling. You can have no idea of the dismal yell they make, as loud as a cow bellowing; add to this, the barking of the jackals, and the blowing of the porcupines.
The ground swarms with insects and reptiles. I have had a snake a yard long coiled up by my bed-side, and a mouse, as large as a small rat, in my bed, where I was lying very ill.
We cannot set a single article of provisions out of the way, but it is covered with millions of ants, some of them an inch long.’
To find out more, or to purchase a copy of the book, visit Raru.co.za.
