It would be difficult to find any place in Africa with a more pleasant climate than Nanyuki. This small garrison town, 6,250 feet above sea level, directly on the equator, is warm during the day and cold enough at night to sit around a log fire. The backdrop of Africa’s second highest mountain – Mount Kenya (17,500 feet) provides an Alpine setting with its jagged summit permanently covered in snow.
When I joined the 3rd (Kenya) Battalion, King’s African Rifles in Nanyuki in 1951, Mau Mau had not reared its ugly head and both races, black and white, enjoyed a good standard of living. True, there was a certain amount of cattle rustling in the Northern Frontier District bordering Sudan, Ethiopia and Somaliland and urban crime in places like Nairobi, Nakuru and Mombasa but, in the main, peace and tranquillity was enjoyed by most of the population. My commanding officer was Lieut Col Jack Crewe-Read (South Wales Borderers), my company commander was Major Tim Evill (SWB) and one of the company officers was Captain Dai Curtis (SWB). It was almost like being at home with the 24th Regiment, the 1st Battalion of which I had left only a week before in Eritrea.
Nanyuki was home to the 3rd and 5th Battalions of the King’s African Rifles, a troop of Kenya Artillery and a squadron of the East Africa Armoured Car Regiment. We rarely saw British soldiers but all that changed when the advance party of a British Army task force arrived and set up camp on the airfield. In addition to supporting arms such as REME, Engineers and Medics, there were some Redcaps (Military Police) who erected OUT OF BOUNDS signs on the perimeter of the native quarter.
Askaris (soldiers) of 3/KAR were allowed out of camp on Saturday and Sunday afternoons only; uniform was obligatory and they had to be back in camp before sundown. They usually went to the majengo (native quarter) to meet friends and drink pombe (native beer), a routine they had been practising ever since they had been in Nanyuki. Imagine their surprise, therefore, when some of them were rounded up one Saturday afternoon by British Redcaps as they were enjoying the company of walaya (whores). The Redcaps made no distinction between British and African soldiers and took them back to their camp where they locked them in a compound next to the guardroom. When our askaris heard what had happened, a crowd of them made their way to the British camp and, forcibly, let them out.
Our brigade commander in Nanyuki was not a man to cross and anyone unfortunate enough to receive one of his ‘rockets’ would remember the experience for the rest of his life. When he heard what had happened, he ordered our commanding officer, Lieut Col Jack Crewe-Read, to report to him in his office, even though it was late on a Saturday afternoon. After submitting to a tirade of invective about his ill-disciplined askaris, Colonel Jack was told to prepare the whole battalion for a punishment march the following Monday morning. “You’ll march down the Nyeri road until I tell you to stop,” said the irate Brigadier. “as for those mutinous askaris of yours – I’ll have them court-martialled.” For a case of man mismanagement, this was a collectors’ piece. A quiet word from the Brigade Major to his opposite number in the newly arrived task force would have sorted the matter, but once the Brigadier became involved, the law had to take its course.
Every member of the battalion, British and African, paraded on the square at 07.00hrs on the Monday morning. The Bwana Mkubwa (Big Master) – Colonel Jack Crewe-Read, addressed the parade and said how disappointed he was that a few askaris had tarnished the good name of the battalion. “I hope that such a thing will never happen again,” he said. The parade was then handed over to the British Regimental Sergeant Major who added a few words of his own Gaelic-flavoured Kiswahili (lingua franca of the KAR).
The battalion marched out of camp and down the road to the main street in Nanyuki, which was akin to a film set for a ‘Western’ movie. There they turned left and headed for Nyeri, about 45 miles away. The tarmac ran out after half a mile and the road reverted to murram (a clay-like substance that is rock-hard in dry weather but adopts the consistency of toffee in the wet). It was a fine day, the going was good and most askaris thought it was a splendid way to spend a morning. Not all the British officers were of the same mind. A few of them such as the Quartermaster and the MTO (Motor Transport Officer) considered they had better things to do than march an unspecified distance along a dusty road in unaccustomed footwear. But a Scale ‘A’ parade means everyone – no exceptions.
By mid day the battalion had covered about 15 miles and the Colonel began to wonder if the Brigadier had forgotten to do what he said he would do – arrive in person and give the order to turn around and march back to camp.
At about 1 o’clock the food truck arrived and 20 minutes later a meal of posho, niama and mboga (crushed Indian corn, a slab of meat and vegetables) was served to the rank and file.
British officers had a ‘Fortnum and Mason’ style lunch served from ‘chop boxes’ containing all the necessary implements for a sophisticated picnic. We did things well in the KAR.
As the Colonel was finishing his last dregs of port and a wedge of Stilton, a dust cloud heralded the approach of a Humber 4X4 flying the pennant of the Commander 70 Brigade. Two days of mulling over the indiscipline of 3/KAR askaris had not cooled the Brigadier’s wrath and he rejected the Colonel’s offer of a cold beer. “You can turn around and march back now,” he said gruffly.
When the lunch break was over and the Brigadier had returned to Nanyuki, the African RSM asked the Adjutant if askaris could take off their boots. That was the way they liked to march, with laces tied together and their wide-soled footwear, specially made for those who spent most of their lives barefooted, hanging around their necks. Permission was given and when they were ready, the order ‘Quick March’ was given.
If the singing on the outward leg of the march had stirred the blood, it was nothing compared with the enthusiasm askaris felt when they had their noses pointing towards home. ‘Tufunge Safari’ and ‘Mama na Dada’ were two of the great marching songs of the KAR, but there were many more – all sung in that chanting, rhythmical style peculiar to Africans. It did not stop there. Soon, shoulders were bobbing, arms were waving, boots were flying and some of the Wakamba (tribe) were gyrating and leaping as if they were at a Saturday night ngoma (dance) back in camp. Long before the Mexican Wave was thought of, askaris had a way of starting a similar snake-like movement through the ranks by taking three or four steps forward and one backwards. Not only did this increase the mileage, but it further increased the discomfort of the wazungu (British officers, warrant officers and senior NCOs) who had not yet mastered the style of African route marching.
When they reached the tarmac, half a mile from Nanyuki, the African RSM gave the order to halt and replace footwear. Then the British RSM took over and the whole column marched to attention with rifles at the slope, through the main street and back to camp. ‘Tufunge Safari’, the regimental march, rang out again but, this time, played by the Bugle Band of the Battalion.
It had been a wonderful day out but Colonel Jack and a few other ‘old hands’ wondered if the ‘punishment’ march would give askaris the wrong signal.
Everything was sorted out by the following Saturday when our lads visited the majengo to drink pombe, enjoy the favours of the walaya and buy vitu maradadi (pretty things) for their wamke and watoto (wives and children). OUT OF BOUNDS signs had been removed and the place was free of Redcaps. The Brigadier was satisfied that justice had been done and there was no mention of courts martial. The culprits were given seven days detention and enough free pombe to make a week in jail worth while.
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