THE INFIRMARY (PART 1)

Sometime in the mid-1980s a young lawyer, Evan, freshly “minted” at the University of the Witwatersrand Law School, arrived in a small hamlet near the border between the Transvaal and the province of Natal. It was nestled between the hills of Northern Natal and surrounded by the lush farmland in this area. The border region was blessed with fertile soil, abundant rainfall and a climate that alternated between sweltering hot summers and freezing winter months. Snow fell with regularity every winter, adding a spiteful bite to the already bitter cold.

The young man selected this little town to cut his teeth, as it were, in the legal profession.  He had a passion for serving the farming sector in the field of conveyancing as well as the intricacies and vagaries of agricultural law. The completion of his “articles” was a prerequisite for an aspirant lawyer wishing to practice in his own right. He looked forward to a fulfilling career at the small law firm in the town. 

On the outskirts of the tiny rural “dorp” Evan found rental accommodation in one of the derelict buildings that were to be found on many farms and smallholdings throughout the region. He had no qualms about sprucing it up a tad to make it liveable. There was no electricity in the clay brick cottage with rusty tin roof. Some patchwork on the corrugated roof and whitewash applied to the walls was all that he required for his first bachelor pad. Rudimentary furnishing included a second (or third) hand bed with a coir mattress that had seen better days. A youngster used to the privations of conscripted army life before he had tootled off to university, he was unperturbed by such minor discomfort. A rickety chair and small stinkwood desk would do the trick for any work that needed to be completed after office hours. The beechwood floors let out a melancholy creak as he sauntered between the kitchen and the two small rooms. A deep pit latrine was located out of “sniffing range” of the cottage, but night-time visits to relieve himself were a trifle eery. Indoor ablutions consisted of a tin bath which shared a single faucet with his make-shift kitchen, in which a hardy Welcome Dover had to be stoked by Blackwattle he needed to fetch for himself. The meagre accommodation and low rental were adequate for one familiar with minor deprivations.

In the evenings as the sun began to ebb, the paraffin lamps were routinely lit in what was after the first week or so of occupation, quite a cosy little cottage for a single fellow seeking to shield himself from the frenetic pace of the big city. In the quiet, remote hinterland, he was ready to settle into an unhurried way of life, whilst acquiring the wherewithal to carve out a successful career as the town’s “Attorney at Law.” Most evenings he would read books, prepare writs and, on instruction of the Law Partners, draw up contracts for their scrutiny. Shortly before midnight on most weekdays he would retire to bed after putting out the last flickering lamp. Sleep usually came quickly.

In the early days of Evan’s residence in his hide-out a considerable distance from the main farmhouse, he began to notice odd noises in the early morning hours – but nothing alarming that a pillow over his head couldn’t remedy as he returned to his slumber. One Friday night after he had settled down to sleep after one too many a nightcap, he was woken by a perplexing phenomenon that was a trifle unsettling. He heard, emanating from the next room, the familiar sound of an army boot, followed by the thump of a wooden stump, rhythmically making its way towards the door to his bedroom. The floorboards would creak as it flexed under the weight of the boot. The corresponding step had the distinct sound of a peg leg of some sort. He ascribed the gait of the apparition to an over-active imagination – induced, he believed, by the blinding darkness and those few additional nightcaps that had found their way down his gullet. 

Somewhat unsettling was the repetition of this night-time occurrence – also on other weekdays and often unaccompanied by the nightcap spirits that had become part of his nightly routine. Never did he see or interact with whatever was stepping across his comfort zone and invading his thoughts in the wee hours. 

The recurring night-time encounters, be they real or imagined, caused a degree of unease. He felt inclined to investigate the circumstances in which the cottage had been erected. His landlord was not a source of much useful information, except to the extent he could confirm that the farm had housed British forces during the Second Anglo-Boer War. Evan was not forthcoming with the reasons for his query, as he was anxious not to appear daft. There had been tents on the farm and at some stage between 1899 and 1901 there had been shelters in which war wounded could be treated. In keeping with the terms of the First Geneva Convention of August 1864, the facilities provided were in line with the terms agreed upon to provide “Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded in Armies in the Field,” despite Britain not having been a participant at that early stage. Nevertheless, their own wounded they attempted to treat humanely, but their captured enemies only to the extent that limited life-saving medical intervention was given. 

The farm was not a site on which a concentration camp was erected, so there was no history of civilian deaths having occurred in the area. This scant information piqued the lawyer’s interest, hence his determination to dig up whatever records still existed that dated back to the war years.

It transpired that the British military used the farm as an infirmary and that they built the small cottage to house their own soldiers who were most severely wounded. His investigations also revealed that the room in which he had placed his bed had been used as a temporary facility to hold dead bodies until they could be properly interred in a small cemetery about a mile from the cottage. This snippet of information he found intriguing. 

During the course of the next few months the night-time visits by the phantom continued. Meanwhile, Evan visited the farm graveyard, recorded the names of those whose tombstones marked “For Queen/King and Country” and did further research concerning the circumstances of their demise. In the process he uncovered a fascinating story that began to shed some light on the restless soul that paid him a visit ever so often. He never attempted to engage in conversation with the apparition – indeed he had sufficient problems communicating with the living, hence his reluctance to chat to the dead.

The mysterious figure’s devastating wound on the battlefield, sojourn in the infirmary, his passing and interment, convinced Evan about the veracity of the human condition encompassing more than just flesh and blood. He became convinced that life is not expunged when the body ceases to encapsulate man’s consciousness.

©Paul M Haupt