Daren
The author was a Russian, who fled the Russian Revolution with his mother, ending up in China. This we are told in the first chapter. The Russian revolution was circa 1917, and he mentions he spent 30 years in China. This book was first published in 1961, so was written some time after the events outlined here.
While this book is a biography, we learn next to nothing about Peter Goullart. He shares so little of his daily life that I cannot even tell you what he does for work and how he financially survives. What this book does is describe in micro detail his interactions with monasteries and monks associated with the Taoist religion. What is immediately obvious is that Goullart is 100% on board with Taoism - almost every monk he meets becomes his best friend, he is treated incredibly well by all, and welcomed into the monasteries (he visits many), and he buys into all the religious philosophy.
OK you can probably tell that I am not giving this five stars. I can see what other reviewers got from this book, and if you wanted to understand the experiences of a foreigner in China in this pre-communist era there is plenty here for you. For a heathen like me though, who is easily bored by religious philosophy and who expected that, as this is published by The Travel Book Club, it would be a travel book, it was tough going. There were bright spots. Goullart describes his journey from Russia as a youth, he describes some of the travel from Shanghai to the monasteries, he explains the towns and cities he visits, but never for long. He painstakingly records long conversations with abbots or monks. He describes in detail religious ceremonies and festivals.
Overwhelmingly he is an optimist who sees all the good and shares nothing beyond the good. He is continually upbeat and tells how much he loves China, the Chinese and Taoism. For a pessimist like me I found it wore me down, and at several points I was ready to give up on this book, but just as i reached my limit another morsel of readable experience came through and prevented me (I do dislike giving up on a book).
So if it sounds like your cup of tea, then it is probably a 5 star book for you. If you can live without the intricate details of Taoist monasteries, I suggest letting this one pass you by.
3 stars
The author was a Russian, who fled the Russian Revolution with his mother, ending up in China. This we are told in the first chapter. The Russian revolution was circa 1917, and he mentions he spent 30 years in China. This book was first published in 1961, so was written some time after the events outlined here.
While this book is a biography, we learn next to nothing about Peter Goullart. He shares so little of his daily life that I cannot even tell you what he does for work and how he financially survives. What this book does is describe in micro detail his interactions with monasteries and monks associated with the Taoist religion. What is immediately obvious is that Goullart is 100% on board with Taoism - almost every monk he meets becomes his best friend, he is treated incredibly well by all, and welcomed into the monasteries (he visits many), and he buys into all the religious philosophy.
OK you can probably tell that I am not giving this five stars. I can see what other reviewers got from this book, and if you wanted to understand the experiences of a foreigner in China in this pre-communist era there is plenty here for you. For a heathen like me though, who is easily bored by religious philosophy and who expected that, as this is published by The Travel Book Club, it would be a travel book, it was tough going. There were bright spots. Goullart describes his journey from Russia as a youth, he describes some of the travel from Shanghai to the monasteries, he explains the towns and cities he visits, but never for long. He painstakingly records long conversations with abbots or monks. He describes in detail religious ceremonies and festivals.
Overwhelmingly he is an optimist who sees all the good and shares nothing beyond the good. He is continually upbeat and tells how much he loves China, the Chinese and Taoism. For a pessimist like me I found it wore me down, and at several points I was ready to give up on this book, but just as i reached my limit another morsel of readable experience came through and prevented me (I do dislike giving up on a book).
So if it sounds like your cup of tea, then it is probably a 5 star book for you. If you can live without the intricate details of Taoist monasteries, I suggest letting this one pass you by.
3 stars
This short book by James Cameron (the British journalist, not the Titanic guy) describes his time in North Vietnam in 1965.
From the many foreign correspondent's with applications for visa's to visit North Vietnam in wartime, Cameron was, out of the blue, granted permission to visit the north while it was under control of the Viet Minh. The speculation is that he was granted the visa because he was outspokenly anti-war, and was likely to present a sympathetic output from his visit. He reproduces some content from Time magazine where they describe him (amongst other things) as 'A tireless didactic liberal of the ban-the-bomb breed...' and 'less a reporter than a conduit for North Vietnamese propaganda' and of course 'anti-US and pro-Hanoi". Other newspapers used a 'the opinions outlined here are not necessarily those of the newspaper' type disclaimer.
He was one of few journalists to interview both the Prime Minister, Pham Van Dong, and the President Ho Chi Minh (who had initially turned down the interview request, only to stroll in during his interview with Pham Van Dong and casually steer the conversation away from politics, turned off the recording device and confirmed no photographs.
I should make a couple of things clear - this book is way outside my usual reading genre. I am not sure why or where (or how) I ended up with a copy, whether it was a bundle of books, or whether it is my partiality to Victor Gollancz publications with the yellow covers and red text (I have several, and they tend to be very good). Also I am far from knowledgeable in this field, so I won't be expanding my basic review much.
Worth noting, this book is not a copy of Cameron's journalistic efforts, this book simply describes how his visit came about, what he did on his visit, who he met and what he discussed. He formulated all his journalistic work quite separately.
Worth a read to get a different perspective from a quite unique source - or witness, as the title of the book would have us understand.
3.5 stars
This short book by James Cameron (the British journalist, not the Titanic guy) describes his time in North Vietnam in 1965.
From the many foreign correspondent's with applications for visa's to visit North Vietnam in wartime, Cameron was, out of the blue, granted permission to visit the north while it was under control of the Viet Minh. The speculation is that he was granted the visa because he was outspokenly anti-war, and was likely to present a sympathetic output from his visit. He reproduces some content from Time magazine where they describe him (amongst other things) as 'A tireless didactic liberal of the ban-the-bomb breed...' and 'less a reporter than a conduit for North Vietnamese propaganda' and of course 'anti-US and pro-Hanoi". Other newspapers used a 'the opinions outlined here are not necessarily those of the newspaper' type disclaimer.
He was one of few journalists to interview both the Prime Minister, Pham Van Dong, and the President Ho Chi Minh (who had initially turned down the interview request, only to stroll in during his interview with Pham Van Dong and casually steer the conversation away from politics, turned off the recording device and confirmed no photographs.
I should make a couple of things clear - this book is way outside my usual reading genre. I am not sure why or where (or how) I ended up with a copy, whether it was a bundle of books, or whether it is my partiality to Victor Gollancz publications with the yellow covers and red text (I have several, and they tend to be very good). Also I am far from knowledgeable in this field, so I won't be expanding my basic review much.
Worth noting, this book is not a copy of Cameron's journalistic efforts, this book simply describes how his visit came about, what he did on his visit, who he met and what he discussed. He formulated all his journalistic work quite separately.
Worth a read to get a different perspective from a quite unique source - or witness, as the title of the book would have us understand.
3.5 stars
Dashiell Hammett's second published Continental Op novel.
This was a novel in three parts, and a single story which was originally serialized in four parts in Black Flag magazine in 1928.
The Continental Detective Agency, San Francisco is employed by an insurance company representing a jewellery shop which loaned eight relatively modest diamonds to a scientist experimenting with changing the colour of glass - they hoped he would have succeeded with diamonds obviously increasing the value of the low value, discoloured diamonds. The diamonds were stolen in a robbery, and the jewellery shop was making an insurance claim. Later the agency is employed by two other clients all tied up in the same case!
From there a convoluted story that evolves and cycles through many, many characters is slowly worked though by the Continental Op, who remains unnamed as usual. Honestly the story is so convolved and complex with red herrings and false trails all the way through. Admittedly I read it slowly as the book resided in my car, so almost certainly not more than 30 minutes a day, and probably more days of not reading it than reading it. This didn't help. Wikipedia has a character list with fifty characters listed. A decent proportion of them were killed during the story!
For me it was 3.5 stars.
Dashiell Hammett's second published Continental Op novel.
This was a novel in three parts, and a single story which was originally serialized in four parts in Black Flag magazine in 1928.
The Continental Detective Agency, San Francisco is employed by an insurance company representing a jewellery shop which loaned eight relatively modest diamonds to a scientist experimenting with changing the colour of glass - they hoped he would have succeeded with diamonds obviously increasing the value of the low value, discoloured diamonds. The diamonds were stolen in a robbery, and the jewellery shop was making an insurance claim. Later the agency is employed by two other clients all tied up in the same case!
From there a convoluted story that evolves and cycles through many, many characters is slowly worked though by the Continental Op, who remains unnamed as usual. Honestly the story is so convolved and complex with red herrings and false trails all the way through. Admittedly I read it slowly as the book resided in my car, so almost certainly not more than 30 minutes a day, and probably more days of not reading it than reading it. This didn't help. Wikipedia has a character list with fifty characters listed. A decent proportion of them were killed during the story!
For me it was 3.5 stars.
Added to listOwnedwith 2746 books.
Like many young New Zealanders, Martin Kerr finished a bachelors degree at University and headed to Australia with an end goal of reaching Britain or Europe "keen to see the world". In Sydney he "spent a night of harloting" then hitchhiked to Brisbane. Cutting cane was far too hard work for the soft hands of a university graduate so he got a job as a rigger. He ran into a school friend, set himself up in a flat with his old friend and two other New Zealanders and settled into working , drinking and pub fights.
Yep, it was going to be one of those book where the author shares all his intimate details, despite them making him look like a lout, a womanizer and a man who runs close to the line - every line I suppose, including laws and 'rules'.
Hi mate was shifting to Sydney to get married, the other two were tagging along, so Kerr jumped on a flight to Port Moresby (Papua) on the basis that it was north, and the general direction he was wanting to go!
So the book starts. Published in 1973, this means Kerr spend time in Papua (the southern part of the eastern half of the island) formally the Territory of Papua, administered by Australia from 1906 until 1975; and also in the northern part of the eastern half of the island - the Territory of New Guinea, from 1920 when it was confiscated from Germany. This too was administered by Australia, but was occupied by the Japanese before being taken back by Australian and American troops. From 1945 the two territories were combined, and in 1975 they were given their independence, becoming Papua New Guinea - so there were preparations going on for the Australian withdrawal while Kerr was ending his own time there... but I jumped ahead a bit.
In Moresby, Kerr considered his options and came up with a Patrol Officer being the most suitable for him. Essentially, the experienced patrol officer is a policeman, magistrate, jailor, surveyor, agricultural adviser and general administrator. A junior patrol officer, such as Kerr, works under and assists, and this is what Kerr did for the first half of the book.
In between taking up with native wenches (definitely underplayed or spoken about subtlety) Kerr was sent out to pursue criminals, visit villages and all manner of other tasks. Kerr writes descriptively and well sharing all the details of preparation, transport, communication and the work he carries out. He is moved about from posting to posting as he gains experience.
About halfway through the book (and it's hard to work out the timeline) Kerr packs it in and returns to New Zealand to attend University and obtain an honours degree (a BA hons), and during this (presumably) year out, decides that he isn't finished in New Guinea, but won't return in the public service - it was obvious that was a road coming to a dead-end. He also ruled out volunteering, or any form of religious institution (how very unsuited he was to this!), and out of the blue he was contacted by a trader (and politician!) from New Guinea, an Italian Australian named (Big) John Pasquarelli, and offered a job.
And so in the second half of the book Kerr tells of his experiences as a trader and crocodile hunter up the remote Sepik, Green and May Rivers. Again he shares all the details of his fascinating adventure, his love life and his hunting.
Not all readers will warm to Kerr's laddish outlook, but I can say he has a genuine respect for the Papuan people and their culture. I won't spoil any more for those who might find a copy of this somewhat obscure book, but one quote before I stop.
P56
There will always be the memory of these sturdy men in gourds. I am proud to have walked with them - through every conceivable type of country - jagged limestone ridges, slippery boulder-strewn river beds and leech-infested jungle.
It makes me secure and happy to have sat with them, a revolver in my belt awaiting ambush, beneath their crude bush shelters, while freezing rain pelted down. Seated on their haunches, the water lapped their balls, while I had the comfort of woolen socks in jungle boots, trousers, and a heavy jersey and balaclava.
I would surely have dies, but for these men on a handful of rice a day, naked and unsheltered themselves. These 5-foot giants of Stone Age culture were responsible for my safety. No, not my native police, the sophisticates from the cost, waddling in white mans boots. They were cumbersome extras, though they did not hesitate to load their own equipment on to the carriers or whip them along with a piece of cane when they began to tire.
The pint-sized carriers bridged the raging torrents with cane bridges up to 75 yards long. They could set up camp in an hour... Let it be said that without the assistance of the poorly paid or impressed carriers, Administration patrols into this area would never have been possible.
4 stars
Like many young New Zealanders, Martin Kerr finished a bachelors degree at University and headed to Australia with an end goal of reaching Britain or Europe "keen to see the world". In Sydney he "spent a night of harloting" then hitchhiked to Brisbane. Cutting cane was far too hard work for the soft hands of a university graduate so he got a job as a rigger. He ran into a school friend, set himself up in a flat with his old friend and two other New Zealanders and settled into working , drinking and pub fights.
Yep, it was going to be one of those book where the author shares all his intimate details, despite them making him look like a lout, a womanizer and a man who runs close to the line - every line I suppose, including laws and 'rules'.
Hi mate was shifting to Sydney to get married, the other two were tagging along, so Kerr jumped on a flight to Port Moresby (Papua) on the basis that it was north, and the general direction he was wanting to go!
So the book starts. Published in 1973, this means Kerr spend time in Papua (the southern part of the eastern half of the island) formally the Territory of Papua, administered by Australia from 1906 until 1975; and also in the northern part of the eastern half of the island - the Territory of New Guinea, from 1920 when it was confiscated from Germany. This too was administered by Australia, but was occupied by the Japanese before being taken back by Australian and American troops. From 1945 the two territories were combined, and in 1975 they were given their independence, becoming Papua New Guinea - so there were preparations going on for the Australian withdrawal while Kerr was ending his own time there... but I jumped ahead a bit.
In Moresby, Kerr considered his options and came up with a Patrol Officer being the most suitable for him. Essentially, the experienced patrol officer is a policeman, magistrate, jailor, surveyor, agricultural adviser and general administrator. A junior patrol officer, such as Kerr, works under and assists, and this is what Kerr did for the first half of the book.
In between taking up with native wenches (definitely underplayed or spoken about subtlety) Kerr was sent out to pursue criminals, visit villages and all manner of other tasks. Kerr writes descriptively and well sharing all the details of preparation, transport, communication and the work he carries out. He is moved about from posting to posting as he gains experience.
About halfway through the book (and it's hard to work out the timeline) Kerr packs it in and returns to New Zealand to attend University and obtain an honours degree (a BA hons), and during this (presumably) year out, decides that he isn't finished in New Guinea, but won't return in the public service - it was obvious that was a road coming to a dead-end. He also ruled out volunteering, or any form of religious institution (how very unsuited he was to this!), and out of the blue he was contacted by a trader (and politician!) from New Guinea, an Italian Australian named (Big) John Pasquarelli, and offered a job.
And so in the second half of the book Kerr tells of his experiences as a trader and crocodile hunter up the remote Sepik, Green and May Rivers. Again he shares all the details of his fascinating adventure, his love life and his hunting.
Not all readers will warm to Kerr's laddish outlook, but I can say he has a genuine respect for the Papuan people and their culture. I won't spoil any more for those who might find a copy of this somewhat obscure book, but one quote before I stop.
P56
There will always be the memory of these sturdy men in gourds. I am proud to have walked with them - through every conceivable type of country - jagged limestone ridges, slippery boulder-strewn river beds and leech-infested jungle.
It makes me secure and happy to have sat with them, a revolver in my belt awaiting ambush, beneath their crude bush shelters, while freezing rain pelted down. Seated on their haunches, the water lapped their balls, while I had the comfort of woolen socks in jungle boots, trousers, and a heavy jersey and balaclava.
I would surely have dies, but for these men on a handful of rice a day, naked and unsheltered themselves. These 5-foot giants of Stone Age culture were responsible for my safety. No, not my native police, the sophisticates from the cost, waddling in white mans boots. They were cumbersome extras, though they did not hesitate to load their own equipment on to the carriers or whip them along with a piece of cane when they began to tire.
The pint-sized carriers bridged the raging torrents with cane bridges up to 75 yards long. They could set up camp in an hour... Let it be said that without the assistance of the poorly paid or impressed carriers, Administration patrols into this area would never have been possible.
4 stars
Added to list5 Starwith 200 books.
Michel Peissel was an experienced traveller, ethnologist and author - and had already spent much time in the Himalaya (Bhutan, Nepal & Tibet) before he undertook his journey into Zanskar. The reader benefits from his knowledge in what he explains of Zanskar, but what is immediately apparent from the start of this book is the authors ability to speak Tibetan gives him a massive advantage in being accepted by the people of Zanskar and obviously to be able to communicate first hand with them.
Zanskar is a secluded valley, formed by the Himalayan mountain range and the Zanskar mountain range which runs parallel to it. It is one of the most inaccessible valleys, especially at the time Peissel visited it in 1979. Zanskar is a part of the Union Territory of Ladakh, but at the time has was practically self governed and was ruled over by not one, but two Kings! These are the King of Zanskar, the King of Zangla, both of who Peissel met (he also met the King of Padum, so I am still a little confused, perhaps there were three). Buddhism is the dominant religion, split between the Yellow Hat sect (Gelugpa) of which the Dalai Lama is the head, and the Red Hat sect (Drukpa Kargyupa) more associated with Bhutan.
Peissel tells a fascinating story of his journey, his three guides feature heavily and he covers well all the religious and cultural festivals as well as daily life and enough history to form up the background. Clearly he has an affinity with these people, and his respect and understating comes through clearly in his writing. Peissel looks back to the few other travellers who have visited the valley, and speculates about what is to come in the form of tourism - the paradox being of course, that his book encourages those people to visit in the future.
I thought it a fantastic book to learn about a place almost certainly irreparably lost now, some 45 years later. Interestingly on his journey across the Himalaya on the way out of Zanskar he met a team of Indian Survey geologists who mentioned they, in conjunction with a team of geographers were planning the mapping and geological study of Zanskar. Perhaps that was beginning of the end, as anecdotally it is mentioned in the book that gold is present in apparently quite accessible quantities.
A couple of quotes I found poignant.
P85
Surely one of the reasons why strangers are unwelcome today in most of the world is that, what with modern communications, they have little or nothing to offer. The current price of wool or meat on distant markets is already known and news of distant relatives comes by post. Radios and televisions now satisfy people's curiosity and the traveller is seen principally as a possible menace, perhaps a thief, or a parasite; alternatively he may be regarded simply as a source of money.
P87
I stepped outside and again I was struck by the magnificent view: a full circle of peaks surrounded the flat sea of the central plain dotted with its villages, refuges in a world unfit for man. If ever there lay a valley cut off from the world, a hidden, secret land, it was Zanskar. I could hardly believe that only recently I had left a world which is polluted and overpopulated. Everything in Zanskar I found near to perfection: nothing, so it seemed, was out of place or unnatural. The rusty carcasses of tin cans and automobiles, and the death-like skeletons of electric poles, the hideous rust of corrugated iron, the soiled look of waste paper, the deadly gleam of scraps of plastic were absent; nowhere was there the slightest reminder of mechanical ugliness. I do not know what it is that makes all manufactured objects become so ugly the day they are old, worn or broken. Natural decay is rarely as revolting as say a rusty, broken washing machine.
There was nothing here to tarnish the harmony of nature in which man has his natural place blending with the earth, dressed and fed by its products, moulded by its demands and formed by its seasons. Every image was an ideal one: the horse with its wooden saddle, the yak-hair mattress covered by a woolen carpet whose design represented clouds and mountains.
I recently read another of Peissel's books Tiger For Breakfast, which was excellent, but quite different to this - the city of Kathmandu rather than the wilds of Zanskar. This was a reassuring second read, and I am glad he has published many others I can try to track down.
I also found at least two pdf versions of this book online (google search threw them up pretty quickly) for those who like to read in that format.
4.5 stars, rounded up.
Michel Peissel was an experienced traveller, ethnologist and author - and had already spent much time in the Himalaya (Bhutan, Nepal & Tibet) before he undertook his journey into Zanskar. The reader benefits from his knowledge in what he explains of Zanskar, but what is immediately apparent from the start of this book is the authors ability to speak Tibetan gives him a massive advantage in being accepted by the people of Zanskar and obviously to be able to communicate first hand with them.
Zanskar is a secluded valley, formed by the Himalayan mountain range and the Zanskar mountain range which runs parallel to it. It is one of the most inaccessible valleys, especially at the time Peissel visited it in 1979. Zanskar is a part of the Union Territory of Ladakh, but at the time has was practically self governed and was ruled over by not one, but two Kings! These are the King of Zanskar, the King of Zangla, both of who Peissel met (he also met the King of Padum, so I am still a little confused, perhaps there were three). Buddhism is the dominant religion, split between the Yellow Hat sect (Gelugpa) of which the Dalai Lama is the head, and the Red Hat sect (Drukpa Kargyupa) more associated with Bhutan.
Peissel tells a fascinating story of his journey, his three guides feature heavily and he covers well all the religious and cultural festivals as well as daily life and enough history to form up the background. Clearly he has an affinity with these people, and his respect and understating comes through clearly in his writing. Peissel looks back to the few other travellers who have visited the valley, and speculates about what is to come in the form of tourism - the paradox being of course, that his book encourages those people to visit in the future.
I thought it a fantastic book to learn about a place almost certainly irreparably lost now, some 45 years later. Interestingly on his journey across the Himalaya on the way out of Zanskar he met a team of Indian Survey geologists who mentioned they, in conjunction with a team of geographers were planning the mapping and geological study of Zanskar. Perhaps that was beginning of the end, as anecdotally it is mentioned in the book that gold is present in apparently quite accessible quantities.
A couple of quotes I found poignant.
P85
Surely one of the reasons why strangers are unwelcome today in most of the world is that, what with modern communications, they have little or nothing to offer. The current price of wool or meat on distant markets is already known and news of distant relatives comes by post. Radios and televisions now satisfy people's curiosity and the traveller is seen principally as a possible menace, perhaps a thief, or a parasite; alternatively he may be regarded simply as a source of money.
P87
I stepped outside and again I was struck by the magnificent view: a full circle of peaks surrounded the flat sea of the central plain dotted with its villages, refuges in a world unfit for man. If ever there lay a valley cut off from the world, a hidden, secret land, it was Zanskar. I could hardly believe that only recently I had left a world which is polluted and overpopulated. Everything in Zanskar I found near to perfection: nothing, so it seemed, was out of place or unnatural. The rusty carcasses of tin cans and automobiles, and the death-like skeletons of electric poles, the hideous rust of corrugated iron, the soiled look of waste paper, the deadly gleam of scraps of plastic were absent; nowhere was there the slightest reminder of mechanical ugliness. I do not know what it is that makes all manufactured objects become so ugly the day they are old, worn or broken. Natural decay is rarely as revolting as say a rusty, broken washing machine.
There was nothing here to tarnish the harmony of nature in which man has his natural place blending with the earth, dressed and fed by its products, moulded by its demands and formed by its seasons. Every image was an ideal one: the horse with its wooden saddle, the yak-hair mattress covered by a woolen carpet whose design represented clouds and mountains.
I recently read another of Peissel's books Tiger For Breakfast, which was excellent, but quite different to this - the city of Kathmandu rather than the wilds of Zanskar. This was a reassuring second read, and I am glad he has published many others I can try to track down.
I also found at least two pdf versions of this book online (google search threw them up pretty quickly) for those who like to read in that format.
4.5 stars, rounded up.
The Great Trek from Cape Colony across the Orange River into what was, at the time this book was published, Transvaal, the Orange Free State and Natal. The Transvaal province was divided into the provinces of Gauteng, Limpopo, Mpumalanga, and part of North West; the Orange Free State is now Free State; Natal now KwaZulu-Natal - I think i captured all that correctly...
Anyways, the Great Trek by these Afrikaner men and women, armed only with muskets and their faith trekked into the wild opposed by the two most powerful Bantu military empires of the time - the Matabele and the Zulu. There were many loses and successes in spite of the overwhelming odds. The book covers the period 1806 to 1854.
If I am honest, I lost track of the people, although their names are familiar as the common names of South Africans (mostly Springboks and local expats I work with) Potgieter, Retief, Smit, Pretorius, and many other less dominant figures.
As another reviewer points out, the author is sympathetic to the Trekboer, and perhaps over sympathetic in a modern context, but the descriptions of the location, the journey and the fighting are atmospheric and well written. There are various maps and a selection of photographs/drawings reproduced in black and white.
Overall, I am not sure I really know what this was about when I bought it back in 2020, and it is probably not a book of specific interest to me, but it did a good job of what it set out to do.
3 stars
The Great Trek from Cape Colony across the Orange River into what was, at the time this book was published, Transvaal, the Orange Free State and Natal. The Transvaal province was divided into the provinces of Gauteng, Limpopo, Mpumalanga, and part of North West; the Orange Free State is now Free State; Natal now KwaZulu-Natal - I think i captured all that correctly...
Anyways, the Great Trek by these Afrikaner men and women, armed only with muskets and their faith trekked into the wild opposed by the two most powerful Bantu military empires of the time - the Matabele and the Zulu. There were many loses and successes in spite of the overwhelming odds. The book covers the period 1806 to 1854.
If I am honest, I lost track of the people, although their names are familiar as the common names of South Africans (mostly Springboks and local expats I work with) Potgieter, Retief, Smit, Pretorius, and many other less dominant figures.
As another reviewer points out, the author is sympathetic to the Trekboer, and perhaps over sympathetic in a modern context, but the descriptions of the location, the journey and the fighting are atmospheric and well written. There are various maps and a selection of photographs/drawings reproduced in black and white.
Overall, I am not sure I really know what this was about when I bought it back in 2020, and it is probably not a book of specific interest to me, but it did a good job of what it set out to do.
3 stars
The first of Jack Masters' three autobiographies, this was an excellent and detailed view of Masters' career in the Indian Army. After graduating from Sandhurst (officer training school) in 1933, he was seconded to the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry for a year before applying to serve with the 4th Prince of Wales's Own Gurkha Rifles. He saw service on the North-West Frontier (in Pakistan, at the border with Afghanistan) with the 2nd battalion of the regiment, and was rapidly given a variety of appointments within the battalion and the regimental depot, becoming the Adjutant of the 2nd battalion in early 1939 (where this book ends).
It is generally told in a linear fashion, although it does duck back and forward in time to provide explanation or background to a situation. The writing I found very good, with very detailed descriptions of all manner of aspects of life. Where I believe he excelled was describing the nature of his Gurkha soldiers - whom he clearly has an affinity with, and great respect for. There were some very astute observations made by Masters, who really proved his understanding of his men.
There was plenty of humour in the telling of his stories, often Masters himself was the source, but he also recalls stories about fellow officers (although he doesn't name names). There was also enough light history, where appropriate in the narrative, to fill in some explanations.
Also covered is and impromptu tiger hunt and Masters' travel through the USA when on ferlough, enroute back to Britain - again interesting perceptions of the States in this era.
The book comes to a close as Germany ramps up the war by invading Poland.
4.5 stars
The first of Jack Masters' three autobiographies, this was an excellent and detailed view of Masters' career in the Indian Army. After graduating from Sandhurst (officer training school) in 1933, he was seconded to the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry for a year before applying to serve with the 4th Prince of Wales's Own Gurkha Rifles. He saw service on the North-West Frontier (in Pakistan, at the border with Afghanistan) with the 2nd battalion of the regiment, and was rapidly given a variety of appointments within the battalion and the regimental depot, becoming the Adjutant of the 2nd battalion in early 1939 (where this book ends).
It is generally told in a linear fashion, although it does duck back and forward in time to provide explanation or background to a situation. The writing I found very good, with very detailed descriptions of all manner of aspects of life. Where I believe he excelled was describing the nature of his Gurkha soldiers - whom he clearly has an affinity with, and great respect for. There were some very astute observations made by Masters, who really proved his understanding of his men.
There was plenty of humour in the telling of his stories, often Masters himself was the source, but he also recalls stories about fellow officers (although he doesn't name names). There was also enough light history, where appropriate in the narrative, to fill in some explanations.
Also covered is and impromptu tiger hunt and Masters' travel through the USA when on ferlough, enroute back to Britain - again interesting perceptions of the States in this era.
The book comes to a close as Germany ramps up the war by invading Poland.
4.5 stars