I was assigned to a platoon under the auspices of Cpl. Van der Merwe and Lt. Van der Merwe.We then spent a couple of days 'registering' - filling in bunches of forms, getting issued with some kit and then we were taught how to make an army bed (the edges had to be perfectly square). We were not allowed to walk anywhere, we had to march. March to eat, march to the bathroom, march to the laundry, march, march, march. Our daily clothes were heavy brown overalls (the official colour was 'Nutria'), web belt and boots. The store did not have boots my size and so for the first couple of weeks I did my marching and drilling in some flip-flop beach thongs I had brought with me. About the only thing we ever said was "Ja Korporal!" (Yes Corporal) and indeed we spent days learning how to respond to almost every command with that canned response.The store also did not have the standard running shoes in my size. They could not even order any so one day Lt. Van der Merwe drove me in his car to a shoe shop so that I could buy some running shoes out of my own money. Later I went to the store and drew some running shoes that would fit Debbie and I gave them to her.Our bungalow was a long hall with two rows of double bunk beds down either side. We were each given a foam rubber 'mattress' about 10cm thick and a mattress cover and a pee stained sort of canvas cloth called a pisvel that had to be sewn onto the foam rubber mattress. This was then placed on the steel frame of the bunk bed and had to be made perfectly flat with perfect square edges. This was trickier than it sounds because the bunk bed sagged and the mattress was not flat either. We achieved the goal by inserting clothes pegs between the metal 'netting' of the bunk and the mattress so that it was propped up where it was too low. All the bunk beds had to be arranged in a perfect line (we used some string to check they were nicely in line)I was too tall for my bunk but I managed to get hold of a spare mattress and a spare sheet and I lay that on the floor next to my bed to sleep on. Because it took so long to prepare the bed for inspection every morning, lots of the guys prepared their bed the night before and slept on the floor so that it would be ready in the morning and of course this was strictly illegal and there would be periodic raids by corporals in the dead of night. Because of my height I obtained permission to sleep on the floor from our corporal but of course the raiding parties did not know of this and on a number of occasions I would awake to being viciously kicked by three or four jerks who thought they had found someone who was supposed to be in bed. The commotion would wake up all the guys around me and they would try and tell the raiders that I indeed had permission to sleep on the floor, much to their disbelief.In front of each double bunk, we would each have our 'Trommel', a large metal trunk in which one kept most of one's kit. This had to be open at inspection time and on the right hand side you had to have your 'balsak' (large tan coloured duffle bag) and it of course had to be perfectly square. The secret weapon was to use shaving cream on the bag and when it dried it would make the bag somewhat stiff so that the edges would stand up neatly. To the left of the balsak was our brown towel, perfectly flat and covering all the rest of your stuff that in no way could be made to match everyone else's stuff.To the side of the bed was your 'kas', a metal cabinet with two sliding doors and a shelf on one side. This had to contain your spare socks, PT vests, underpants etc. On top of the bed was to be your 'dixie', (mess kit), cup, 'pikstel' (knife and fork set), shaver, toothbrush and toothpaste. All the toothpaste tubes had to match all the others so the only way to achieve that was for everyone to scrape off the paint and have only the metal tube visible.

A poor picture of me ready for inspection

Pretty soon I went to the stores and bought spare socks, vests, shirt and balsak. This allowed me to set up and arrange all my stuff for inspection and not have to destroy the careful preparation of each item after every use. I was fortunate in that I was earning a salary and could afford the R7.50 for a spare balsak and socks. The SADF socks were the best socks I have ever seen. I have been wearing them for all my hiking and even on a daily basis during the New England winters and only now 19 years later are some developing holes. What an investment! Both my balsaks are also still in use, they carry our sleeping bags when we go camping. One of them still has the lighter shaving cream mark around it exactly 12 inches from the bottom.I brought combination locks for my trommel and kas which meant that I could not lose the key or have it stolen. The daily routine consisted of numerous instances of falling-in outside the bungalow, running to the perimeter fence and back, drilling up and down, running around the bungalow, getting lectured on map reading, radio use, how to write documents, etc. and one often had to change or get some other bit of equipment in between each of these events. This means that we often had to sprint into the bungalow, open your trommel, get or put back something, close it and rush outside again to fall in. Opening the combination lock was done so often that it started to become automatic. One day I noticed that I could feel when the combination lock was being turned to the correct position. I then started concentrating on the feel of the lock as it turned. Many of the guys had the same type of lock and so I tested my theory by telling someone I thought I could open any of the locks. He confidently said I could try his and I opened it on the first try, much to both our surprise!My bunk buddy was Leonhard Praeg an Afrikaans guy right out of school with a good sense of humour so we got along well. I was the tallest one in the unit and the shortest guy was also in our bungalow - Van der Sandt was his name and he was only just taller than his rifle.

Myself with Van der Sandt

One chap slept with his eyes wide open and it always looked as though he was dead when he slept. Some guys could not stand it and always tried to push his eyelids closed. Other names I remember are Bonthuis, Smit, Grobelaar. One day one of the bigger guys in the bungalow did something wrong and the Corporal declared that he was to go into orbit. This meant that he was not to touch the ground for a week. We had to carry him at all times. To the mess hall, to the bathroom... if any part of his body touched the ground his orbit would be extended. Man we really hated that.We were issued with R1 rifles - a 7,62mm caliber automatic weapon. I was pleased to find that I could rest the small knob on the left of the rifle on the top edge of my web belt so that my arm did not have to support the full weight of the rifle. When I was about to be observed from close quarters, a very slight movement would enable me to unhook the knob.Mail from home was always an exciting event and one would often have to do pushups in order to receive a letter that had arrived for you if there was anything wrong with the address. Our rank was that of Private. If a letter arrived addressed using the rank Rifleman (Skutter or Weerman) that was call for many push ups. Perfumed or a fancy envelope would be even worse. Mail was thus a two edged sword.One of the idiots kept screwing up and getting us all into trouble. So we arranged to have a letter sent to him addressed to "Skerp Skutter" (Marksman), doused with perfume and lipstick and he had to do many press-ups to get the letter and all it said inside was Vasbyt! Revenge was sweet!Early on we spent the day learning how to salute. If you are walking past an officer that needs to be saluted you have to start the action at a very precise moment in your stride to ensure that the salute is in place as you pass and this also allows more than one of you who may be walking together to salute in sync. That evening as we were all cleaning the bungalow in preparation for the inspection the next morning I saw one chap walking past the TV that was at one end of the bungalow. (Nobody ever had any time to watch the TV but it got switched on anyway.) As he approached the TV, the French period program that was showing depicted an officer and he was honored by a snappy salute. I don't know if he was making a joke, or if his brain was simply 100% programmed to salute in response to any commissioned officer.Normally anyone who has qualified as a teacher was automatically sent to Outshoorn to do basics and then do an Officer's Training Course. I was trying to get myself seconded to the University of Durban-Westville to continue a research project on recreational facilities that was being done for the Office of the president. I was doing all the computer work for the effort and was hoping that I could avoid being cannon fodder if I could work on that for my military service. This plan at least got me allocated to the Personnel Services School in Pretoria for basics instead of Outshoorn. I had to submit a statement requesting the secondment but they kept mucking me about, requesting triplicate copies, or the statement to be in Afrikaans, losing it, etc. I kept submitting the statement but it never went anywhere. We were all trained as army clerks but even clerks had to know how to operate a radio using the military methods, how to shoot, take orders etc.

We had to chain all our laundry to the washing line or else it would get stolen. Everything except socks could have a chain threaded through it.We did so much running about that we were all instructed to drink 9 liters of water every day or we would suffer from heat exhaustion. Out of all the guys in our intake for that camp, about 4 guys died from heat exhaustion and we learnt of two suicides. You never heard anything on the TV about such deaths. One guy in our bungalow had his knees totally give out on him. He could no longer walk. Whilst most of the running about was at the direction of our platoon corporal, PT instruction was given by more dedicated sadists called PTIs. These guys are supposed to know when to stop but I suppose their training was not so good either. One day two of us just could not go on during PT and they decided to make an example of us, so they sent us to the duty room to get shipped off to the M1 Military Hospital to have us checked out - and we waited in the guard room for hours but the gharrie (Land Rover) never came and so we were eventually sent back to our bungalow... The risk was that by the time you got looked at at M1, you had recovered somewhat and would thus be declared 'fit'. This would have been like a death warrant because then the PTI would be entitled to do many hours of 'corrective training'.After about 7 weeks we were allowed to get out of the camp for our first weekend pass. Elwierda Tours ran a bus service from Pretoria to Durban leaving on the Friday evening and returning again on Sunday afternoon. After about 10 weeks weekend passes were a little more common and I used the bus service but it was expensive. (R50.00) One weekend three of us decided to share petrol costs and travel to Durban in one guy's car. He had taken it to have some repairs and was ready to be collected so we got the car and started off. We had not gone far when there was a loud clonk noise. I looked out the back window and saw a large gear rolling along the road that had fallen out of the car. We pulled over and I went back and fetched the gear - I was in disbelief, how could a gear simply fall out - it did not seem possible that it came out the gearbox. Once we opened the bonnet we saw where it was from, it was part of the toothed timing belt arrangement and without it we were going nowhere. We walked some distance to where we could telephone and called the AA to come and help. The owner of the car did not live in Durban so he did not really have to go there so the other guy (Smit) and I decided that we would have to hitch hike on home ourselves. It was now dark and we started to hitch hike. Some guys in a very nice BMW stopped. The car had a heater and we sped on as far as Heidelberg where we got dropped off. For some hours we stood in the dark and cold because nobody would pick us up. In desperation we took turns trying to do various antics such as jumping up and down, dancing, etc. to try and get a vehicle to stop. We got a lift from some black guys in an open bakkie. Smit and I climbed on the back of the bakkie and it was the coldest I have ever been. We tried to put on every bit of clothing we had. I had an army towel and we wrapped that over our faces and we lay down together like man and wife to ensure that we lost as little heat as possible. Mercifully they stopped at Harrismith for a coffee break and we bought a cup of hot coffee each, then it was back into the bakkie all the way to Durban.Guard duty was boring. You were already dog tired from the exercise and inspections and then you occasionally had to do guard duty too. This also meant an additional rifle inspection which was always risky because no matter how much you cleaned your rifle, there was always the chance that some minute speck of dirt would get into the barrel just before inspection. A dirty rifle would lead to extra P.T. (opvok PT) and extra duty - more guard duty. Once through rifle inspection guard duty meant two cycles of 2 hours on guard and 4 hours sleep. First shift was best 18H00 to 20H00 (everybody was awake anyway) and then again from midnight to 02H00 and you could sleep in until 06H00. I remember guarding a vehicle park - rows and row of trucks all with inviting seats on which one could sleep... I remember watching the Southern Cross rotate in the sky ever so slowly. An R1 rifle gets very cold to hold when the temperature is low so I soon learnt to take some gloves for guard duty.One week I had been given a weekend pass and was just getting ready to leave. I heard that they were short of guards and were looking for someone to do guard duty. That would cancel a pass without any second thought. I had just locked my trommel when I heard "Andag!" the signal that an officer had stepped into the bungalow and we were all to come to attention. I was extremely fortunate in that my bunk bed was right next to the side door of the bungalow so as I stood up I stepped outside and went behind the next bungalow very quickly. I made my way to the main gate peeping around all corners before stepping out from behind any building as if I was a wanted criminal. I got to the gate and escaped for the weekend. Here you can just see the door that made my escape possible.

Our bungalow

We had to buy all the paint and cleaning materials for the bungalow out of our own pockets. (Note the paraat yellow and black too.) One guy managed to bring in an old push mower and some shears so we could keep the grass perfect.Towards the end of basics we all had to go on a field trip. I knew this was coming so I brought some large nails, two small aluminium poles, some guy lines, some extra plastic sheeting, an empty 5 liter wine bag and some old socks with the toes cut off, and Jiffy bags.. We all packed into the back of some trucks and drive out to somewhere in the middle of the bushveld, I have no idea where. There we had to set up camp and we had to make our own bivvies (Bivouacs). Two guys get together with their two ground sheets and one ground sheet makes the floor and the other makes the roof. This is what my poles, nails and guys were for...

Leonhard and I soon had a nice neat bivvy because we used the poles as tent poles which we fastened down with the guys which in turn we anchored on the ground with the large nails. The rest of the guys had to scurry about and find sticks and string (there was no string) and few blokes had anything to cut sticks to the right size. The 5 liter bag was for carrying extra water (the water bottles only took a liter and that was often inadequate). You may be able to see in the picture below what we did with the Jiffy bags. When getting food we placed our entire dixie in the bag so that it formed a liner. When we were finished we could throw away the Jiffy bag and we did not have to wash our dixies...

Eating off our dixes with Jiffy bag in place

The toeless socks were for threading over our arms to protect our elbows in case of long sessions of leopard crawling which sometimes occurred.

We were all issued with blank rounds and had to have the red blank muzzle attachment screwed into our rifles at all times. Despite the blank attachment one guy got his ear blasted to shreds by his buddy's rifle when a blank was discharged too close.

Platoon 77 in the bush.We also dug pit latrines and parked 'go-carts' over them - large fiberglass toilet seats on a larger base. When the base is not covered by sand they look like go-carts without their wheels. Here is a candid shot of me having a race...

At night we had to guard the lines of bivvies and of course we all suspected that at some stage the officers were going to come and attack us in the dead of night. Months of training had taught us what we were supposed to do in such a case. The guard patrolling the lines had a radio and had to report to HQ right away using all the obscure radio call signals of "10-10 come in 20-20" etc. When the attack came it was Van der Sandt who was on duty. He called up the HQ and declared "HK - HK daar is kak in die land!" (HQ - HQ there is shit in the country).

Leonhard Praeg and myself ready for a night in the bush.

One night they said we had to do a night march. It did not take much imagination to know that we were going to get ambushed because we had been training how to react to an ambush. So once we had been set off on our night march we stopped a short way along the road and devised our plan. We were pretty sure that trip wires across the road would be used (we had been trained to set them too) so we decided to send two of the guys about 50m ahead of the rest of the platoon. Sure enough about a kilometer down the road they triggered the trip wires which in turn set off a wonderful display of magnesium light flares and lots of firing from the bush on the side of the road. Everyone took cover. If this had been a real ambush, at most we would have lost two guys instead of all being mown down so we considered the tactic a success. The officers were pretty pissed off because we had not played into their trap according to their plan.

Hiding behind a smoke screen.

After BasicsAfter basics (about 4 months) we were all posted out to various units around the country. This was critical because it determined where you would serve most of the rest of your two years. I wanted to get posted to Natal Command in Durban but of course guys in the SADF sports teams had preference so all the Surfing team guys went to Natal Command and there were no more slots available there. I made a fuss about being married and that there was a policy to post married servicemen as close as possible to home. Finally the day came when we were all given our route order to go to our various units. I got a piece of paper that said "S.F. Maj Dippenaar 1RR Durban." Great I was going to Durban! The address was somewhere on the Bluff. A truck arrived to pick up all they guys who were going to S.F. which we learnt stood for Special Forces. We were taken to Special Forces Headquarters in Pretoria where people were assigned to different Special Forces units and about 4 of us were assigned to the Durban unit. Another guy, Francois Van der Merwe also had the strange Maj. Dippenaar notation.1RR stood for 1 Reconnaissance Regiment (The Recce Commando unit) and it was located on the Bluff that overlooked Durban harbour. I always thought it was just some old WWII Navy cannons up there because I can remember that one could drive along the Bluff to the lighthouse at the end and stop and admire the view of Durban from a few lookout spots as we had done when I was a boy. Now the whole end of the Bluff was closed off and the gate was guarded and sandbagged. We were allowed in and we reported at the duty room and then showed to our sleeping quarters in what was called F-Block. The corporal seemed to be nervously taking his time showing us around F-Block and getting us settled in. We learnt later that this was so that he could avoid going to PT parade at 3PM. We also learnt who Major Dippenaar was. He was a special forces officer who had been blinded some years earlier when some explosive detonators went off in his hands. Maj Dippenaar needed a new personal assistant and Francois and I had been earmarked as possible candidates to do the job. My Afrikaans was not very good and Francois was an Afrikaans speaker and that suited Maj Dippenaar better so Francois became his personal assistant. Francois had to read all the correspondence to the Major and at times even drove him about.

Note: all ranks cited here are as they were at the time of my service.

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