My legs were burning as I cranked the old “kaffir bike” (no offense intended to any person black or white but how else do you describe the big old heavy black industrial delivery bikes of that time – a “manually powered two wheeled native utility” hardly cuts it does it?), up the long rise coming into the cross roads that was Enkeldoorn, cycling in the Rhodesian Airforce’s preliminary introduction to new officer cadet courses relay ride from New Saarum, (Salisbury), to Thornhill (Gwelo) air force bases.  My first glimpse of the minibus that contained the remainder of the course bar us four cyclists turning into the forecourt in front of the elicited a tired but welcome sigh of relief. 

 

The Enkeldoorn Hotel was hardly an imposing sight, a nondescript sprawling single story collection of buildings. 

 

But enter the pub, a neat and tidy timber bar in a sort of reverse question mark with the base on your right hand side of the door.  The bar is of the English style with posts reaching up to support shelving above the bar.  A huge array of military collectables of the time adorned the shelves.  Aside from the one or sometimes two African barmen in their neatly pressed starched white tunics, there usually moved a chain smoking, dapper little red headed gent with a neatly trimmed moustache, who managed the hotel.  His appearance and manner made me immediately think of General Montgomery of WW2.  If you took the time he’d introduce himself as Fred.  But his real name was Peter Cornwell.  (Aside from managing the hotel, Peter also owned the towns only butchery, ran 3 market gardens for fresh fruit and veggies including his own 5-acre block east of town where he fed up cattle and sheep for the butchery as well as reared chickens for their meat and eggs.)  He used to tell of a funny story about having lots of tomatoes one year to such an extent that he put bags of them out the front of the shop with a sign saying “Free Tomatoes” but no-one took any.  Then he changed the sign to “Tomatoes for sale - 20 Cents” and they sold out in hours.

 

Seated at the bar, usually clad in either a blue or cream short sleeved safari suit, was a dark haired gent by the name of Buck Rogers, owner of the (BP I think it was) petrol station on the left hand side just as you came into town from the North (Salisbury).  Buck, could be relied upon for a discussion on virtually any subject, appeared to be well read, and always ventured forth strong opinions on that subject and would readily argue their veracity.

 

To the left of the entry was a curious cubicle about the size of a telephone box with a stout timber door and barred window.  This was the gaol.  Unwary travelers would scoff at the notion of The Republic of Enkeldoorn which, jokingly, wanted to succeed from Rhodesia, were thrust into the gaol and made to plead for beer and / or clemency.  The bar boasted a Republic of Enkeldoorn stamp to stamp passports etc.  Buck Rogers was usually an instigator of a “gaoling”’ supported by what local support he could muster.

 

I passed through Enkeldoorn on several occasions during 76, 77 and 78 and then spent Christmas of 1990 there with my parents in law Peter and Grace Cornwell having married their youngest daughter Sue.  Sadly they have both passed on but “Fred’s” Peri Peri sauce recipe still grace’s the chicken and sometimes pork on our bar-b-cue in Queensland, Australia and has rendered a “Japanese Flag” to many an unsuspecting Australian guest. 

 

My brother in law, Kevin Paynter, whom some may remember as an inspector in the BSAP during the 70s down in Umtali, took over the butchery from dad.  Sadly, he too has passed away I believe as the last white in the township of Chivhu (Enkeldoorn) but I am unsure as to the outlying farming properties, which as the town’s first name suggests were all of strong Boer culture and this is where I believe the “Republic” notion was born.

 

Long Live The Republic of Enkeldoorn.  In our hearts and minds.