THE HEX

The Eastern Province Herald published a short "In Memoriam" on 27th April 1929 in its classified column that reads: 

             BESSESEN –       In memory of Lief Erica Bessesen, who lost his life in the Hex River                                                           disaster, 1928.

                           He is gone but not forgotten. 

                           Never shall his memory fade.

                           Sweet thoughts shall ever linger

                           Round the spot where he is laid.

        Inserted by his loving sister Olga.

Newspapers throughout South Africa published reports about ANOTHER train disaster on the treacherous stretch of narrow gauge track (3’6”) over the Hex River mountain pass. Etched in the memory of many readers was the previous catastrophic derailment just fourteen years earlier. This aptly named winding pass had begun to live up to its name, and conjured up the perception that it indeed had a hex on it.

During the night of 26 September 1914 a regiment of the Kaffrarian Rifles on their way to fight on the Western Front during the Great War met their destiny before they could reach their destination. At around 02h00 the troop train embarked on the steep descent, lost its brakes and began to careen down the long, winding track, gaining speed at an exponential rate. Whipping through the sharp bends, it eventually lost its grip on the slim tracks and leapt into the abyss, engine first and coaches following rapidly and with abandon. Having jumped the rails the carriages telescoped, fell, rolled until it came to a mangled rest in the forlorn depths of the cavernous valley. Smoke, steam and dust mingled as it rose in defiance of the trench horror the troops had been spared in a cunningly cruel twist of fate. No trench foot or shell shock for them. Just a mass burial site and a memorial stone with soldiers’ names etched beneath an inscription which reads: “Faithful Unto Death.” For these doomed souls who had been spared embarkation in Cape Town for the hellish zig-zag trenches of Europe, death came swiftly in the dead of night. Most did not know what had hit them. Those who did endure brief waking moments, died in bewildered confusion, hardly being granted a few seconds to comprehend that they were hurtling to their end. Had they survived this horror, hindsight reveals that they would have endured the gratuitous slaughter General Haig bequeathed to troops he considered riffraff unworthy of a dignified demise. Ordering troops “over the top” to certain death by machine gun strafing, he and the senior staff officers cared not a smidgeon for the lives entrusted to their command. It is doubtful if they visualised a purpose in all of this barbarity, other than to pit their armies against perceived enemies who had equally feint comprehension of the sense of it all.

Out of the derailment of the 1914 troop train came this dire warning, though: The Hex River Pass is a stretch of rail not to be trifled with. It was not, as some engine drivers were reputed to believe, a test of the speed at which they could make their engines and carriages hurtle towards the valley below, taking their human cargo around hairpin bends at staggering velocity. Those who did dice with death were invariably doomed.

In Johannesburg, on the evening of the 26th April 1928, Bessesen and his fellow travelers boarded the train to Cape Town, oblivious of the perils of this journey. Wives, children and friends were greeted on the Park Station platform as porters lugged their trolleys to open carriage windows. There they would disgorge their gigantic steel conveyors on pneumatic wheels, shoving cases and boxes through wood-framed railway windows into the compartments. Most compartments were shared by strangers with their luggage. Items too large to accompany the passengers were stowed in special carriages for the sole purpose of transporting excess baggage and the mail bags that gave the name to “mail trains.” The mood on the platform was diversely sombre, joyous and filled with excitement, depending on the purpose of the journey undertaken by the assortment of passengers. Quiet it certainly was not. The train stations in those days were bustling – teeming with life.

Bells rang out on the platform – the third round indicating that departure was imminent and all passengers were required to board. The conductor’s whistle was followed in short order by the gigantic steam locomotive’s signature sound of steam forcing the pistons into their cylinders. In the locomotive the driver in charge of the train and his sweaty and charcoal tainted stoker coaxed the powerful beast into motion. On board the carriages were holidaymakers, businessmen on their way to Bloemfontein, Kimberley or Cape Town and a host of other travelers who were on their way across the country for a variety of other reasons. Fellow passengers engaged in small talk and “get to know you” chit-chat. It would be a long trip, so making one another’s acquaintance was essential in anticipation of being cooped together in the relatively compact compartments. Bessersen was quite a jovial character and loquacious. He would regale his fellow “pilgrims” to the Mother City with tales that ranged from truth to half-truth and pure fiction. He came across as a most likeable fellow and the compartment seemed destined for a journey shortened by joviality and jocularity.

The “bedding boy” (as the fellow was condescendingly referred to, yet devoid of judgmental animosity) came round soon after the shunting yards of Germiston had been left behind. These were the days before Apartheid, but very much segregationist. Job reservation structured the society, giving the more desirable Railway jobs to white folk (train drivers, conductors, lounge car/caboose staff and the like), lower echelons of poor whites (porters, gangers in charge of labourers maintaining the rail tracks), Coloureds and Indians (bedding “boys” – although all grown men) and black folk who were the lowest ranking labourers. Carriages were segregated according to race even in the same class of coach, but black people were not permitted to travel in anything but third class carriages. This was not given a second thought by the passengers and just regarded as “the way things are” and “normal” in a society with colonial beginnings. It was rare that people discriminated against stood their ground – as did Mohandas (the Mahatma) Gandhi had and had been turfed off a train in Pietermaritzburg for “making waves.” 

The journey across the Transvaal, Orange Free State and Cape Province was one which could take three full days at the time. A highlight for the First and Second Class passengers on these trips was the call to breakfast, lunch and dinner in the caboose/dining car. A steward would sound a melodious (xylophone-type) gong to announce up and down the passage that one of the dining sessions was about to begin. Meals were served on proper China crockery and at tables formally set with silverware appropriate for each course. Much to the amusement of young children accompanying parents was the minute espresso cup in which coffee was served. The size of a thimble, it was thought to be rather a waste of effort, so meagre was the shot of strong coffee.

It was on the second morning in the Hex River Mountain Pass, that all Hell broke loose as the locomotive made its way across the crest. Early morning coffee was served at around six in the morning – an hour or so before breakfast. The “wake-up” hot beverage (in normal cups unlike in the dining car) was served in the compartments by stewards renowned for their dexterity – no trays, cups delicately balanced in one hand, a coffee pot in the other. All of this aboard a moving train – jerking and sputtering along behind a “not so smooth” steam locomotive. It was a sight to behold and quite entertaining for passengers given this impromptu acrobatic spectacle en route. 

The crest of the pass had scarcely been traversed and the locomotive belted along towards a treacherous curve in the track. The driver had been rumoured to be something of a speed fiend, but that could be purely conjecture. Be that as it may, the brakes turned out to be useless for the intended purpose of retarding the train. It and five carriages jumped the rails at a notorious culvert. They rolled and telescoped, the caboose catching fire and spreading mayhem along the length of the cavorting wood and steel along its downward trajectory. Death by blunt force impact in the steel engine came instantly to the driver and stoker. Flames engulfed the carriages and, though most passengers escaped with varying degrees of injury, five people (in addition to the deceased driver and stoker) were incinerated before they could escape the carnage or be rescued from the inferno.

A blaze of indignation swept the country. Newspapers carried the report and were most unflattering as to the safety record of the Railways, especially as the previous disaster of 1914 and subsequent near misses were called to mind. The extent of the anger reached the House of Assembly, General Smuts, the Opposition Leader, berating the Minister of Railways and demanding a full enquiry into the circumstances of the disaster. Opposition parties had some clout in those days and the Minister of Justice launched an enquiry, the outcome of which eventually led to the rerouting of the Hex River line and construction of a tunnel to cut out the most treacherous sections of the track.

The impact of these accidents and disasters are widespread and outlive the memories of the events that precipitate them. Succeeding generations reap the benefits of investigations into the horrors that befell innocent victims of past incompetence and recklessness. The significance of individual lives lost, as reflected in this unearthed notice from the EP Herald in April 1929, is worthy of remembrance. Each had a wife, child, relative or dear friend who experienced devastating loss – and that loss should be acknowledged. Every life has value, and may we all be reminded of that as we contemplate the experience encapsulated in this, the shortest of obituaries, but no less meaningful.

Let us all remember those who went before us. May we graciously doff our hats to every valuable life  lived, contributions made upon which succeeding generations can build better lives and experiences and give honour to our forebears.

Rest in peace Lief Bessesen – unknown to most of us and merely a name in a newspaper clipping – but dear to at the very least, the sister who placed the notice in the Eastern Province Herald on 27 April 1929 on the first anniversary of his passing.

References:

Eastern Province Herald 27 April 1929

Townsville Daily Bulletin (Qld. : 1907 - 1954) Mon 30 Apr 1928  Page 6  SEVEN FATALITIES.

The Argus (Melbourne, Vic. : 1848 - 1957)  Sat 28 Apr 1928  Page 33  TRAIN DISASTER.

Sunday Times A blast from the pass 23 October 2011 by PAUL ASH

©Paul M Haupt