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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

food and would not charge me for the petrol either.  On a trip like this with the most meagre resources it was so heartening  to meet kind, simple, generous people  who helped me on  my way out  of sheer charity.
At the Border Post going into Portugese East Africa (Mozambique) the native customs clerk noticed that I had two different number plates on my bike. On of course was the Kenya number and the other was on the rear from a replacement mudguard in Nyasaland (Malawi). Anyhow he was a decent chap and got over the problem by entering both into his register,  after I explained how one had dropped ogff and had been replaced!               Finally I reached  the Southern Rhodesian Border  (Zimbabwe) about lunch time and the Immigration Officer also was very decent and interested about my long journey. I told him I was very hungry and he suggested the pub for lunch , but I told him that was out of the question as I could not afford it, and I would eat when I finally got to Salisbury (Harare). He would not hear of that and took me home and gave me a very good meal and sent me on my way.  A few miles from the Border post I met wonder of wonders the “strips”.  They were two,  two foot wide  smooth strips of tarmac set into the road; the first tarmac since leaving Kenya……it was absolute heaven, not sliding, juddering, slipping or slithering. I just cruised effortlessly at 30 – 40 mph  when about 30 miles out of Salisbury  I was suddenly charged by a bull being led along the road side by an African. The front of  the bike was  lifted about 3 ft off the ground and the animals head crushed my right hand before the bike hit the bank. I lost consciousness and came too with the African being very attentive and helpful, and he lifted me up. The headlight was smashed, the handlebars bent, the front number off, but the bike was still roadworthy.  He explained that he had only just bought the bull and had no idea that its nature was so mercurial, and he was in the process of taking it home . He offered lots of apologies, and it was one of my last adventure on a long trip of exciting adventures over a thousand miles of  rough bush roads. Later that afternoon, still in daylight I finally arrived in Salisbury. 

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