For the Love of Frances: Colonel Anthony Durnford of Isandlwana-a Romantic Perspective

FOR THE LOVE OF FRANCES

Colonel Anthony Durnford of Isandlwana

- A Romantic Perspective -

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Romantic:  Of, or characterised by, or suggestive of an idealised view of reality.

(Oxford Dictionary)

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Not theirs to save the day,

But where they stood,

Falling to dye the earth with Brave Men’s Blood

For England’s sake and duty

Be their names sacred among us

Neither praise nor blame add to their epitaph

But let it be simple, as that which marked Thermopylae

Tell it in England, those that pass us by,

That here, faithful to their charge, her soldiers lie.

Inscription on Carbineers memorial at iSandlwana

Prologue

I haven’t much longer for this world, and there is one more task that I must complete. It is a task which I contemplate with pleasure. A task to lay down before you the life of my nephew, Anthony William Durnford.

You will know of Anthony. You will know him as the man who is blamed for the military disaster at a remote mountain in a region in South Africa called Zululand. That sphinx-like mountain is now written in black in the annals of British military history. It is, of course, iSandlwana. 

Anthony’s misunderstood role in that battle is the subject of a book written in collaboration between Anthony’s brother, Edward, and Bishop Colenso’s daughter, Frances. They prove the accusation to be the blatant nonsense that all thinking men understood right from the start.

Just think about it: a general splits his forces in enemy territory, against his own standing orders, leaves the camp unfortified and rides off with half his force, and an officer arriving late at the camp is accorded the blame. Nonsense! The general, Chelmsford, underestimated the Zulu, and made the wrong decision, but you don’t blame the senior officer in a battle, not in the British military hierarchy. A scapegoat must be found. That is the way it is done.

I will not be writing an apology for my nephew, Anthony. My account is of the boy we came to know, my wife and I, when my sister sent him to be schooled by us when we were living in Düsseldorf, Germany.

We were in Germany because I had pursued a patent of mine. It is not necessary for you to know all the ins and outs of the matter, it is not pertinent to the story, so I will be short: I invented a new type of valve for steam engines and the German company was so interested in the design that they invited me to work with them and I, in turn, was so enamoured with the level of mechanical excellence that I found, that I stayed for more than two decades, right until I retired to my family home in County Leitrim.

When young Anthony came to stay with us we had been in Düsseldorf for three years and were quite established, and well advanced in our mastery of the German language. It was just Katherine and I, for we had not been blessed with a child of our own. That was a part of our motivation to take Anthony when asked by my brother-in-law to do so.

That is enough of us. Let me focus on the subject of the story.

Anthony was twelve years of age when he came to stay with us, and sixteen when he left to attend the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich. We had the pleasure of his company for nearly five years and it was too short for we loved the boy. He changed our lives and the way we saw the world around us.

We saw him develop the personality characteristics that were both a delight and a curse in his later career. The truth is we were responsible for some of those characteristics. My brother-in-law should probably not have chosen me to oversee a few years of the early development of his son for I have never been a lover of the military and their way of brainwashing young men.

When Anthony came to us he had spent his whole school life at an Anglican institution and had received a severe education with much emphasis on religion and discipline. He had seen little of his parents and we saw in him a yearning for the love of close family.

We wanted to counterbalance that restricted education with a more humanitarian approach and the only teaching establishment that provided such training was a Jewish College, so that was where he went, and that was where he learnt to accept all peoples, irrespective of race or religion. He developed a love of art and letters. I suppose you could say he became a romantic, hardly the best characteristic for a boy who was to become a soldier in the British Empire.

I remember noting with some disquiet the depths to which he had become immersed in his belief that there was good in all men, when he first wrote to us from South Africa and described the natives as ‘honest, chivalrous and hospitable … thoroughly good fellows’. That was hardly the way others wrote of them, nor the images portrayed in the London Illustrated News.

What was done could not be undone. We released into the British military system an impetuous, somewhat delusional, romantic young man. Young boy really. He was only sixteen. But that was the way they wanted them in those officer training establishments.

Two years later he completed his cadetship with first-class passes in Mathematics, Fortifications and French, and received his commission: Second Lieutenant Anthony Durnford of the Royal Engineers. He was only eighteen years old, and set on the career that had been chosen for him.

When he visited us we saw the changes taking place. He became more focused, more ambitious. But we were also pleased to see he retained his humanity, and that never left him. Nor did he ever lose his love for us and he wrote to us every week and visited when he was posted in the United Kingdom, and I in turn visited him when he was stationed in Malta and later in Gibraltar. Those visits and letters are the basis for my story of his life.

It is a father’s story really for I came to think of him as my son. It was only with me that he could converse without restraint, and share his inner feelings and desires.

I have chosen to begin his story in Ceylon, his first overseas posting. I never visited Ceylon, nor South Africa, so my descriptions of those far flung territories, and the events that took place, are enlightened by what Anthony told me or by accounts that I subsequently read.

Do not expect precise details. This is the story, the tragic story, of a man who became isolated and lonely because of his beliefs and who ultimately became vilified for his adventurous spirit. That is the real story, and that story starts in Ceylon with a young woman named Frances. There were eventually to be three Franceses in Anthony’s life and so much of what he did, and what he was, can be attributed to those three.

J.T. Langley

County Leitrim, Ireland

January, 1891

1. Ceylon

There was a squall at sea and it obscured the land, but it did not deter Anthony Durnford from standing at the rail, fascinated by the promise of this new land, and wanting to experience every moment. The curtain of rain soon passed and the green hills reappeared, and to the north, seen for the first time, the fort on the headland, beyond a confusion of bays.

Trincomalee. The very name entranced him. Here was novelty and romance and the advancement of his ambitions. Trincomalee, Ceylon, his new home for the immediate future. If he had a regret it was that the rebellion against the Kingdom of Kandy had been squashed a few years earlier.

He would have preferred a theatre of war in which he could prove himself: put his training to good use, show his superior officers the mettle of his courage and leadership. It would come soon, he was sure of it.  But in the meantime here was this foreign land to savour.

The rigging above him squeaked, and the big buff-coloured sails fluttered, and he knew the brig was tacking away from the land again, and would return to this course for the last time to sail into one of the bays ahead of them.

He had come to know this 400 ton ship well in the four months of the journey from Southampton: familiar now the smells and noises of wet wood and rope and sail on deck, and below, the stench of rotting food and body odours of nearly two hundred passengers and crew. It would be a welcome landfall.

Anthony Durnford was twenty-one years of age, that warm wet day in October, 1851: a tall upright young man with an air of calm control about him which belied the zeal which burned within. His face was sharp-featured with a high forehead from a hairline already receding. Down-turned eyebrows leant to his mien a sad look, as if he already anticipated the bad luck that was to dog his career. Even at that young age he already sported side whiskers and a moustache, the badge of the British officer ranks.

Many others joined him at the rail once the rain had abated, some seeing, as he was, this confusion of bays and headlands for the first time, others returning from a visit to the home country, pointing out the landmarks, showing the route the ship would have to follow as it inched through the large bay under reduced sail and into the inner harbour.

Anthony was interested in the fortifications and the harbour layout and construction. This was his job as a Royal Engineer. Trincomalee, with its massive natural harbour, the fifth largest in the world, was an important victualling and naval port, the most important in Asia for the British Navy. The army was here to protect it and his job was to make sure it all worked, not just for the navy but also for the commerce of the Empire.

The fort seemed well positioned, commanding the straits into the inner harbours. He knew it had originally been built by the Portuguese in the 17th Century and improved by the Dutch who had tenure for 140 years before ceding it to the British. He would have ample time to inspect its massive granite walls, see where it could be improved.

He turned his attention to the main harbour in what he knew to be China Bay, or the inner harbour, protected from the sea by the headland on which stood the fort and the buildings of the town. The layout remained confusing to him; he would have to obtain a map, and walk the territory, get a feel for the spaces.

More confusing was the harbour layout, obviously in a state of continuous growth as it struggled to keep up with the growing traffic. Piers jutted into the bay in what seemed to him to be a haphazard fashion. Wooden piers on which stood wooden buildings, and at which docked wooden ships, their wooden masts rising into the sky like the stumps of a ruined forest.

Here was work for him. Where were the water pumps and the fire buckets? Where were the trained fire fighters? He resolved to make this his first duty, would mention it to his superior officers at the first opportunity.

*

There was a considerable wait before they could disembark. Customs officials came on board to check the papers of all passengers. Anthony went to give his thanks to the Master. He had found him to be a bully and a drunkard, but he had to be given credit for safely navigating the Atlantic and Indian Oceans, crossing the equator twice, and it was not in Anthony’s make-up to avoid what he would regard as his duty to the manners of the day.

The Master, Joseph Waterman, looked at Anthony’s number one uniform with disdain. He had not hidden his dislike of soldiers.

That should impress the ladies, Master Durnford.

Anthony kept his answer light.

It’s supposed to scare the natives, Captain.

Scare them m’arse. You give ‘em aim for their spears.

There were bullock carts lined on the docks soliciting rides, and Anthony selected one to carry his trunk. He walked alongside, for he could see the fort a mere three to four hundred yards away and he could use the walk, although his gait was uncertain after the time at sea.

The road led to the main gate of the fort, a plastered wall in which was set a tunnel guarded by large wooden gates and flanked by high walls of dark grey granite. The cart driver would not enter and he manhandled the trunk from his load bed and dropped it on the side of the road.

At that noise a soldier emerged from a cubicle in the tunnel.

What’ya doing, ya bastard?

He saw Anthony and stared insolently for a second and then gave a languid salute.

So this is what I’m to expect, thought Anthony. His training in how to be superior came to his rescue.

What’s your name, Private?

He had snapped out the question and saw the instant obedient response.

Smithy, Sir.

Your surname?

It’s Smithy, Sir.

Is that the way you treat the natives of this island?

He’s a coolie, Sir.

He tossed the soldier what he thought was the appropriate fare for conveying his trunk.

Pay him and get my trunk to my quarters. My name’s Durnford. Now tell me how to get to the office of Colonel Franken.

*

The outer ramparts of Fort Frederick enclosed acres of real estate which had been filled over the centuries with single-storey buildings to fulfil the needs of a regiment of soldiers and their fighting equipment. What was a pleasant surprise to Anthony were the mature trees which lined the streets through the base and lent to it an air of settled peace most unlike a military establishment.

It was early afternoon when he took his first walk through those leafy lanes and his first impressions of pleasure at the shade were soon balanced by disquiet at the lack of purpose of all personnel he encountered. Soldiers strolled to their destinations and saluting was a sometime thing, not observed unless there was direct eye contact and it seemed to Anthony that that was deliberately avoided.

By the time he reached the regimental headquarters he already had a poor opinion of Colonel Franken, the officer commanding that somnolent body of men.

He had to wait to meet his new commander. Colonel Franken had not yet returned from lunch. No, the adjutant had also not returned. This information was given to him by a fat sergeant who guarded the entrance to the inner offices of the regimental command.

It’s nearly fifteen hundred hours, Sergeant.

We follow local custom here, Sir, a siesta in the middle of the day.

What constitutes the middle of the day?

The sergeant was not happy at the implied criticism and his answer bordered on insolence.

You might have noticed it’s hot here in Ceylon. The summer months are over, but still the mercury is in the eighties. Have you not noticed, Sir?

Of course Anthony had noticed. The number one uniform with its layers of serge material was hardly suitable for tropical climes, but a British soldier did not allow such vagaries of foreign lands to distract him from his purpose and duty.

It is beneath you to be snippy, Sergeant. I asked you a legitimate question.

The sergeant was used to handling young officers barely commissioned, but there was a difference about this one, an intensity that had not been blunted by the long and uncomfortable sea journey.

The officers normally return towards the end of the afternoon, Sir.

And then, do they continue working into the evening?

Yes, Sir, for a few hours.

Anthony was not prepared to wait for perhaps two hours without purpose.

Do you know what quarters I’ve been assigned, Sergeant?

Yes, Sir.

Well, get a man to take me there. You can tell Colonel Franken that Lieutenant Durnford has arrived to report for duty and awaits his instructions.

*

Lieutenant Colonel Lucas Franken had spent thirty-five years in the army without seeing action. As a result he had become adept at parade ground soldiering: pleasing his commanding officer and staying clear of controversial decisions. He had at least become a good administrator, keeping records and budgets in good order.  But he was not a motivator of men and had accordingly let his command at Trincomalee become moribund. With no actual or perceived threats, morale and discipline had been allowed to slide.

When he finally called for his new young engineering officer it was close to seventeen hundred hours.

Anthony had in the meantime acclimatised himself to his personal quarters and was delighted with the accommodation and surroundings. The junior officers had individual rooms arranged around a cobbled courtyard with a number of large shade trees. It was as cool a spot as you could find on the base. The rooms themselves were spacious and the block included a clean ablution facility and a recreational lounge with easy chairs and a library.

When he arrived at his room there was a thin young soldier with Lance Corporal and Royal Engineer insignia waiting for him.

Good afternoon, Sir.

Yes, Corporal.

I’m Zach Miller, Sir. I’m to be your batman.

Anthony inspected him more closely. He was in his early twenties and had an open, guileless face that was easy to trust.

And who chose you for this duty, Miller?

I was batman to your predecessor, Sir. Of course you might want to change the arrangement, Sir.

No, maybe not. We’ll see. Tell me about my predecessor.

What would you like to know, Sir?

The questions were important to Durnford. Often the non-coms knew more than the officers and it was an opportunity to learn some of the background information before he met Franken.

When did he leave?  What rank was he? And how large is our engineering contingent?

Miller answered the last question first.

We are thirty-seven men, Sir. You will be the only officer, Sir, and there is a Warrant Officer and a Staff Sergeant to help you.

Their experience?

Both Permanent Force, Sir, not recruited from the local European population. Warrant Officer Anderson has more than twenty years. Staff Sergeant Ockers has less time but has been here longer, about five years.

And their special areas of expertise?

Both maintenance, Sir, and WO Anderson is an expert in civils.

Does he know about harbour installations and fire control?

Yes, I would think so, Sir.

Very good. Now tell me about my predecessor.

That would be Captain Niemann, Sir. He was with us for only six months before being transferred to China.

Do you know why?

No, Sir.

Come, Miller, I’m sure you know everything.

It would be rumour, Sir.

That’s all right. I can live with rumour, Corporal.

They say he was moved because he had a local girlfriend, Sir.

Why is that a reason?

She was a local, Sir, a Tamil girl.

And that’s not allowed?

Oh no, Sir! Officers should not fraternise with the local women.

And what about the men?

Sir, these are matters you should please discuss with the other officers.

Miller had collected his trunk and volunteered to unpack it, which offer was declined.

What are your duties, Miller?

Well, the normal, Sir, seeing to your kit, that it’s washed and ironed. Also your bedding. I’ll come every morning, Sir, after you’ve left for your breakfast, and attend to these matters. And, of course any other things you want me to do, Sir.

Anthony could not help badgering the earnest young man.

And can you arrange a Tamil girlfriend for me, Miller?

No, Sir.

I jest, Miller. Tell me, what was this girlfriend of Captain Niemann like?

It’s not for me to say, Sir.

Nonsense, Miller. What did she look like?

She was very beautiful, Sir. He caught himself, realised he had gone beyond what he wished to disclose. I mean, Sir, she was a handsome woman in the way of the local people. Maybe not the way a British gentleman would consider these matters.

Durnford was amused, but also a little taken aback at what was obviously a distinct class and racial divide.

Never mind, Miller, I’ll not be asking you to pimp for me.

*

There was an officer waiting outside Colonel Franken’s office, a long thin man, stretched comfortably on one of the armchairs, reading a newspaper. He unwrapped himself and got to his feet and Anthony saw the Royal Artillery insignia and a major’s crown on his epaulettes.

Hello Durnford, Jason Etheridge.

The voice was deep and slow, a man comfortable with himself. He thrust his long bony hand in Anthony’s direction.

Good afternoon, Sir, answered Anthony, shaking the proffered hand, impressed with the ease and friendliness of the man.

Etheridge held up the newspaper he had been holding, and laughed, a short bark.

"London Times, five months old. You’ve got more recent news, what’s happening in the old town?"

"No idea, Sir. I came straight from my last posting in Scotland. Train to Southampton, four months at sea. I’m glad to be on terra firma."

Oh well then, you’re no good to me, old man. Let’s go in and see the OC.

To Anthony’s amazement, Etheridge gave a short knock at Franken’s office door, and entered before he heard an acknowledgment from within.

Franken was a small man, lost behind his large desk. He was almost completely bald but made up for it with facial hair, the whiskers jutting from his face like the tusks of a boar. He glanced at Etheridge with no expression of warmth and then fixed his large brown eyes on Anthony.

Durnford, hey? I understand you think we take too long over lunch.

Anthony took some time to recover from the unexpected attack and only found his voice when Etheridge gave him a look of sympathy.

No, Sir, I merely enquired from your sergeant the office hours.

Never mind. Sit down. You too, Major.

Etheridge slouched comfortably again, a look of amusement on his face as he watched Anthony sit awkwardly on the edge of a chair.

I invited Major Etheridge, for he is to be your superior officer.

That was a strange development. Normally the ancillary services reported directly to the commanding officer, but looking at the two officers, Anthony felt he had perhaps got the better of the deal.

I can’t have an inexperienced engineering officer report directly to me, Durnford. Don’t have the time.

Anthony was hurt by the words, but tried to give no indication of his unease.

So, Durnford, what are your first impressions?

The enquiry was in the form of a social gambit but Anthony decided to wake the man up.

I think the docks are a major fire hazard, Sir. I believe my first duty should be to inspect the fire equipment and emergency procedures and jack them up.

What?

Franken stared incredulously at him. Even Etheridge sat up straighter.

I saw no fire buckets, nor did I see water pumps, Sir, and I doubt there has been any training for fire procedures.

Are you fucking mad, Durnford? What does the bloody port have to do with us? It’s a civil matter, man.

Anthony was stung again by the man’s rudeness but he was in it now and would not back down.

I can’t see it that way, Sir. We are posted here to protect the port because of its importance to the Empire. What would happen if the port burnt down? What would the navy do? Would we not be considered to have been derelict in our duties, Sir?

Franken looked at Etheridge.

Luckily you can handle this nonsense, Major.

To Anthony’s surprise Etheridge was prepared to consider the matter.

Hold on, Colonel. I think young Durnford could have a point. You know the civil authorities concern themselves with only commercial matters. Should it not be our responsibility?

I have enough to do, Major, without doing someone else’s job.

Etheridge continued in his mild reasoned manner, blunting the anger in Franken.

There would be a commission of enquiry if the port burnt down. Do you think we would escape blame? And think about it, Colonel, that place down there is an incendiary waiting to go off.

I’m not agreeing with you, Major. This is your opinion, not mine. What do you intend doing about it?

Well, with your permission, Colonel, I think we should commission the Lieutenant to do a survey of the fire hazards and recommend to us a plan of action.

And then what?

Then, if we agree, he can take it to the Governor.

A green Lieutenant, just out of officer training, representing us to the Governor?

Why not, Sir? Do you know anything about firefighting equipment and procedures? I certainly don’t, except as it pertains to artillery. I think Sir George would be pleased at the intervention.

Franken stared at Etheridge. He knew that if he rejected the idea a commission of enquiry would hear of the conversation that had taken place on that day.

Do what you will, Major. Dismissed.

When they exited the regimental headquarter buildings dusk had fallen. Anthony was grateful for the help from the older man.

Thank you, Sir, for supporting me in the Colonel’s office.

Well, Durnford, you do have a point. Some of us in this army try to earn our keep. Don’t take my support in there to mean you will have an easy time of it. I want a thorough investigation and a detailed report. Time, money, personnel. All of it, Lieutenant.

Yes, Sir, you will get all of that.

Good, now go and meet your fellow officers. Tomorrow morning I will accompany you to the Engineering workshop, and introduce you to your NCOs.

*

The first half year of Anthony’s posting to Ceylon was filled with purpose. He had pressing jobs to be completed: making new contacts among his fellow officers, assuming command of his men,  surveying  the fire hazards in the harbour and completing a report of recommendations.

Of those tasks the most pleasurable was getting to know the men of his service. It was his first command, but as small as it was, it was of immense importance to him and he wanted with all his heart to get it right. And like most first attempts at management, or command as the army called it, he made mistakes and had to adjust. From that early experience he started practices that were to last him throughout his army career.

It started with knowing all of the men under his command. He pored over their records to understand their backgrounds and something of their motivation and, in some cases, something of their misdemeanours.

In his room at night he practised their names, envisaging each man as he did so. They were surprised when addressed directly by their names and some of them tried to take advantage and assume a familiarity: correcting that was part of the learning process.

He found in WO Duncan Johnson a very capable 2IC.  Johnson was old enough to be his father, but was careful to let the younger man learn from his own mistakes. He was a martinet in the old style and the men were wary of him, but there was respect and that was more important. Johnson also had a wealth of experience in civil engineering matters and proved to be extremely useful when they started the fire control survey.

Staff Sergeant Okkie Ockers was more garrulous and treated the men like disobedient children, always full of jokes as he chided them for a perceived performance lapse, but his methods also bore fruit, and Anthony found him immensely likeable.

Of all the men close to him, the biggest surprise was Zach Miller. Resourceful and clever, he would go far in the army. And he was the easiest to talk to, being close to Anthony’s age and in frequent contact. Anthony dropped a few juicy rumours to see if they would get back to the men and found in young Zach a strong sense of loyalty and discretion.

Those three trustworthy men were a welcome surprise. Not so his fellow officers. As a group they had succumbed to the sloppy discipline of the base. The younger officers in particular would behave in a juvenile manner, often drinking and playing cards until the early hours of the morning, then riding their horses at sunrise around the inner harbour and returning to bathe and have breakfast before their work day began.

Day after day that pattern would be followed and Anthony was chided for his refusal to follow suit, something that he unfortunately did not manage to resist for the full term of his posting.

The fire control survey was the most interesting. For several weeks Anthony, accompanied by Duncan Johnson, and Zach to take notes, went from building to building in the harbour area meeting the owners or managers of each establishment and questioning them as to their fire precautions. As he had predicted, the majority had made no attempt to secure their premises against the threat of fire.

They also solicited opinions and returned later to the same people and discussed solutions. Those solutions required commitment and that was when they started to encounter resistance.

Word reached Franken and he called Anthony and Major Etheridge to his office. The little man was apoplectic with rage.

I told you this would fucking happen, Major.

Etheridge, of course, knew that nothing had been said earlier about the possibility of the merchants complaining, and he waited for Franken to vent his spite. Before they entered the office he had admonished Anthony to say nothing, even if asked a direct question.

Now you’re wanting them to have fire drills and to not cook on their premises and even to move some of their buildings. Have you gone completely fucking mad?

Anthony amused himself wondering if the Colonel knew any other expletives, and looking forward to seeing the way Jason Etheridge would handle the situation. Etheridge had impressed