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Chapter's From Mike Charnaud's Post War Story
Post War Chapter 1 Post War Chapter 2 Post War Chapter 3 Post War Chapter 4 Post War Chapter 5 Post War Chapter 6 Post War Chapter 7 Post War Chapter 8 Post War Chapter 9 Post War Chapter 10 Post War Chapter 11 Post War Chapter 12 Post War Chapter 13 Post War Chapter 14 Post War Chapter 15 Post War Chapter 16 Post War Chapter 17 Post War Chapter 18 Post War Chapter 19 Post War Chapter 20 Post War Chapter 21 Post War Chapter 22 Post War Chapter 23 Post War Chapter 24

HUGH

MY  BROTHER HUGH  Born 5th October 1920 died  9th May 2006

the left in the bush. It took me a good twenty minutes to pick the bike up as the mud was so soft that footholds had to be cut for my feet and a trench for the wheels. Finally the bike was up and back on the road, but in the gloom I felt that I was being watched. I turned the bikes headlights round and there were an array of eyes from a herd of 7 Giraffe looking down with a superior disdain at me down their long noses. A bit further on, and by now I was really tired and wanted to camp, but the whole land was covered in water. I finally made a rough bivouac with two ground sheets on top of an anthill and woke up suffering from a curvature of the spine! However the good news the following morning was that it had only been a local storm and ten miles further on, and the road was quite dry. My next stop was Arusha, and the approach to the town is unforgettable. Lovely green fields, cool air, and the huge mass of Mount Meru 15,000 ft dominating the background. But no sooner than I had arrived it all changed and the rain came again, this time in earnest and it rained solidly for three days and nights and I was stuck. But whilst there I had reports that 200 miles further south and it was dry, so I decided to chance it and moved out. On the first day I managed barely 30 miles and used in the process 1 ½ gallons of petrol as it was all bottom gear. I don’t know how many times each hour that I fell off, and got terribly weak from constantly having to unload my kit, get the bike up, tie the kit on, and then fall off again. Eventually the mud and grass jammed the mudguards completely. I was soaking wet and cold and hungry, but I spotted a German Farm house near by , but it was deserted. Nevertheless it was shelter and so a spent the next few hours lugging my kit there, and slept in the wet sleeping bag on a cement floor. I was famished, and when I awoke, I was even hungrier. I took my gun to see what I could get. Now Africa is famed for all its wealth of wild life, and I am a person of the bush and a crack shot. But when I really was desperate there was absolutely nothing at all. This was a part of the country known as the Masai Steppe mostly rolling grassland with small thickets. I wandered looking and eventually came upon a Masai village which consisted of funny little shapeless stone and turf huts. They had just killed a cow and they gave me some milk which was welcome and a bit of meat as they butchered the carcass. Nearby there were hyenas, about a 100yds away waiting t0 finish off the bones, and just for devilment I threw a stone in their direction. They moved back a bit and waited. One young warrior, in fighting trim and who was a really fine specimen of a man suddenly rose and chased the hyena for about 300 yds or so. The speed that he ran was electrifying and finally he threw his spear clean through it, killing it instantly. It was a magnificent display of tribal manhood that had been developed over 1,000 s of year since time immemorial.
Finally the following day I got a small buck, and cooked it over a fire immediately. It was very stringy and tasted rather like eating bootlaces, but was most welcome nevertheless and I felt strong again. It was still pouring with rain, but whilst at the farmhouse, I did have shelter and I was able to get the mudguards off the bike and spent hours cleaning and servicing the machine. The following day at about 3 pm the rain stopped and the sun came out and within a short while the road had dried and so I was able to continue. I drove on for 150 miles until midnight, and then struck west again until by 2 am I was clapped out , but a kind passing lorry driver helped me push it a few feet off the road. I collapsed and slept on the spot when after some time I was awoken by a huge 15ton truck nearby who asked if I was OK, and he proceeded to reverse onto me. I shouted at the top of my voice “ I am All Right” first in English, then in Urdu and finally in Swahili but to no effect. Something had to be done and quickly before my bike and camp were crushed, so I fired a shot in the air from my

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