Showing posts with label Herman Charles Bosman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Herman Charles Bosman. Show all posts

Monday, December 7, 2009

Aspects of South African Literature

Below are two excerpts taken from Aspects of South African Literature by Herman Charles Bosman. It is food for thought on the effects of racism and colonialism on Africa. Bosman's use of irony is, as always, in fine form.


"Some years ago it was fashionable for a European tourist to explore some part of Africa, and after he had spent a week or two on the Dark Continent, to return to Europe and to write an authoritative work on the tribal customs, etc., of the savages who allowed him to pass peacefully through their territories. Because they didn't ask to see his visa, or offer to kill him - as would have happened to a foreigner trying to walk through any part of Europe that way - the tourist always knew that he was dealing with a lot of savages.

And the funny thing is that Africa has been uncivilised like this for a very long time. Look for how many years Livingstone walked about all over Africa as a spy. And whenever he came to a village, the savages, with studied brutality, would set before him food and drink. When he got fever, the benighted heathen even nursed him back to health without pay - just so that he could go and spy on them some more. That's this continent for you, sunk in absolute abomination."

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"Another thing: if I were a Native, and I had acquired a certain amount of culture, I wouldn't want to call myself a Bantu or a Native or a negro or an African. No, I would demand to be recognised and accepted as a plain kaffir. I would receive from the hand of the white man nothing less. I would never allow them to take away from me a name so rich in legend, sorrow and heavy with the drama of Africa.

Incidentally, the etymologists' tame derivation of the word 'kaffir' from the Arabic for 'unbeliever' must be rejected by anybody with a feeling for the significance of words. It is a strong, florid word, broad as the African veld, and in its disyllabic vehemence is a depth of contumely [Def: Rudeness or contempt arising from arrogance - Ed] that I am sure no Arab would ever be able to think up."

Thursday, August 27, 2009

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"This was the war of Bronkhorstspruit and General Colley and Laing's Nek. You have no doubt heard many accounts of this war, some of them truthful, perhaps. For it is a singular thing that, as a man grows older, and looks back on fights that he has been in, he keeps on remembering, each year, more and more of the enemy that he has shot.

Klaas Uys was a man like that. Each year, on his birthday, he remembered one or two more redcoats that he had shot, whereupon he got up straight away and put another few notches in the wood part of his rifle, along the barrel. And he said his memory was getting better every year."

Herman Charles Bosman, Yellow Moepels

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"Stoffel Oosthuizen added that, no matter what the difference in the colour of their skin had been, it was impossible to say that the kaffir's bones were less white than Hans Welman's. Nor was it possible to say that the kaffir's sun-dried flesh was any blacker than the white. Alive, you couldn't go wrong in distinguishing between a white man and a kaffir. Dead, you had great difficulty in telling them apart."

Herman Charles Bosman, Unto Dust

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"Of course, I know about history - Oom Schalk Lourens said - it's the stuff children learn in school. Only the other day, at Thys Lemmer's post office, Thys's little son Stoffel started reading out of his history book about a man called Vasco da Gama, who visited the Cape. At once Dirk Snyman started telling young Stoffel about the time when he himself visited the Cape, but young Stoffel didn't take much notice of him. So Dirk Snyman said that that showed you."

Herman Charles Bosman, The Music Maker

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An excerpt from “Bechuana Interlude” by Herman Charles Bosman

“When he had filled the whole sheet of blotting paper with small circles, Johnny de Clerk stopped talking and put the printed documents in order.

‘I have proved to you why you should be insured for a thousand pounds, Oom Piet,’ he said. ‘So just sign your name here.’

Piet Venter shook his head.

‘Oh no,’ he replied. ‘I don’t want to.’

‘But you must,’ Johnny de Klerk went on, waving his hand towards Lenie, without looking up. ‘For the sake of your wife, here, you must.’

‘That is not my wife,’ Piet Venter replied. ‘That’s my daughter, Lenie. My wife has gone to Zeerust to visit her sister.’

‘Well then, for the sake of you wife and your daughter Lenie,’ Johnny de Klerk said. ‘and what’s more, I’ve already spent an hour talking to you. If I spend another hour I shall have to insure you for two thousand pounds.’

Piet Venter got frightened then, and took off his jacket and signed the application form without any more fuss. By the way he passed his hand over his forehead, I could see he was pleased to have got out of it so easily. I thought it was very considerate of Johnny de Klerk to have warned him in time. A more dishonest insurance agent, I felt, would just have gone on sitting there for the full two hours, and would then have filled in the documents, very coolly, for two thousand pounds. It was a pleasure for me to see an honest insurance agent at work, after I had come across so many of you might call the dishonest kind.”

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Did you know?


* Herman Charles Bosman’s collection of short stories, Mafeking Road, has never been out of print since it was first published in 1947.

*He sometimes wrote under the pseudonym Herman Malan, which was his mother’s maiden name.

*He wrote a number of Afrikaans short stories and poems that were published in numerous Afrikaans magazines. In 2001 a collection of his Afrikaans short stories with the title Verborge skatte was published.

*He is especially renowned for his “Oom Schalk Lourens” and “Voorkamer” stories. The actor Patrick Mynhardt won acclaim for his interpretation of Oom Schalk Lourens. He died in 2007 and was buried next to Herman Charles Bosman in the Westpark cemetary in Johannesburg.

Featured Author - Herman Charles Bosman


Our featured author for this week takes us on an incredible journey into the past – to the days of the Boer War, the rule of the British in South Africa and the dusty roads of the Groot Marico. To say that Herman Charles Bosman was an extraordinary writer would be an understatement in the extreme. The mark he has left on South African literature, I would hope, is impossible to erase.

Born in the Cape at Kuils River in 1905, Bosman’s family moved up to the Transvaal a few years thereafter. He spent his formative years with his mother’s family in Potchefstroom, where he was encouraged by his grandparents, mother and uncle, all educated and intelligent people, to read and discuss politics, history and literature.

Bosman’s mother, Elisa, an educated young woman from a well-to-do Afrikaans family, had married a mine-worker, to the consternation and confusion of her parents. Many years later it emerged that she had confided in a close friend that she had married Jacobus Bosman as a “necessary evil” – Herman was a love child, whose father she said she was “unable to marry”.

In 1918, Jacobus Bosman had found a job in Johannesburg as a waste-packer on the mines, and he promptly brought his family to live in Jeppestown. Bosman attended Jeppe High School, where for the first time he came up against mathematics, the subject that he would never master and would eventually cost him his matric. However, he had the good fortune to be blessed with an excellent English teacher, a subject he fell in love with and obtained excellent marks in. He began to contribute to the school magazine, and at the age of 16, was writing short stories which were published regularly in the Sunday Times.

He attended Houghton College in 1922 to study for his Cape Matriculation examination, but mathematics was again to be his ultimate academic Achilles heel. When he sat for his matric algebra paper, he decided to write the examiner an essay confessing his regrettable deficiencies in the subject, and suggesting they be overlooked given his talents in English.

It was during this year that Jacobus Bosman died in a mining accident. The only person who was truly grieved by this was Bosman’s younger brother Pierre, who was close with his father. Elisa was determined to take the insurance payout and find a new husband better suited to her “station” in life.

After eventually managing to graduate at the University of the Witwatersrand with a T2 teaching diploma at the end of 1925, he was posted as a teacher to the Groot Marico district on the border with Botswana. The experience was enthralling and enriching for Bosman, and eventually gave birth to his famous Oom Schalk Lourens and Voorkamer stories, all set in the Groot Marico region.

Tragedy struck soon thereafter, when Bosman went home to his mother for the holidays. Elisa had re-married a wealthy widower, William Russell, who had children of his own, three of whom came to live with Elisa when their father married her. Not long after Bosman arrived in the house, he killed one of his step-brothers with a hunting rifle. There are many hypotheses of what really happened that fateful night. But whether it was an accident, a heated disagreement turned violent or simply cold-blooded murder, Herman Charles Bosman was, after a sensational court trial, sentenced to death for murder.

Bosman spent nine long, agonizing days on Death Row in Pretoria Central Prison and then finally received a reprieve from the Governor-General, brought about by friends and family who had been campaigning tirelessly to save him. Bosman was sentenced instead to ten years’ hard labour, but served half his sentence before he was released on parole in 1930.

Bosman’s years in prison served as the basis for his semi-autobiographical Stone Cold Jug. After being released, he threw himself into writing stories and poetry and started his own printing press, associating himself with many poets, journalists and writers. He then took a nine-year hiatus and toured overseas, spending a lot of time in London, where he wrote the famous Mafikeng Road.

Upon his return to South Africa, he found work as a journalist and also managed to translate the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam into Afrikaans. He married Ella Mason and the couple were well-known for their bohemian lifestyle and parties.

One of Bosman’s closest friends was Gordon Vorster, a local artist, and the two spent many nights together drinking at Johannesburg’s old bars and taverns, getting drunk and coming up with outrageous ideas. Together they decided to compile and anthology of English South African poetry and the criteria for selection were eccentric and probably decided upon in a drunken state. For example, a poem entitled “Pissed in Gaza” would be accepted solely on its title, while a more conservatively-titled poem might be rejected for the same reason, irrespective of the poem’s content.

Uys Krige, a great South African author, received a rejection letter from Bosman that went as follows:

"Liewe Uys, Ek het baie siek gewees met die griep. Hoe gaan dit met jou? Hierdie gedig is sommer 'n klomp kak. Jou vriend, Herman."

(“Dear Uys, I have been very sick with 'flu. How are you? Your poem is a load of shit. Your friend, Herman.”)


After a housewarming party, Bosman was taken to the Edenvale Hospital with severe chest pains by his concerned wife. When asked by the doctor as to his place of birth, he replied, “Born – Kuils River, Died – Edenvale Hospital”. He was released after his examination, telling Ella it was merely indigestion from the night before. When they reached home, Bosman collapsed shortly thereafter and died as he was wheeled into the Edenvale Hospital once again.

Bosman is buried in Westpark Cemetery in Westdene and his gravestone reads:

"Die Skrywer, The Writer, Herman Charles Bosman, b 3.2.1905, d 14.10.1951."

Friday, August 21, 2009

What to look out for next week


Next week’s author is the South African literary giant Herman Charles Bosman. If you are as old and wrinkly as I am, you may remember studying HCB in school, and I am quite sad to note that it has been removed from the list of school set books by the Department of Education, probably because of the repeated use of the word “kaffir” in his Oom Schalk Lourens stories.

Although it is an uncomfortable term for us today, it is certainly not racism on Herman Charles Bosman’s part. In fact, the truth is that through the use of the subtle irony and humour of which he was so fond, he has been able to clearly portray the shocking extent of racism in the old Transvaal of which he wrote. Reading his books is akin to opening a portal to another time and witnessing first-hand the treatment of blacks as second-class citizens.

It is unfortunate that today’s pupils are denied the opportunity to study and discuss Bosman’s short stories – I think they are the legacy of a genius and a valuable part of South Africa’s literary heritage that deserves more acknowledgement. If you have an opinion on HCB, please leave a comment below.