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From: "Ian & Michelle Carruthers" <>
Subject: [AFR-ZIMBABWE] Early days in Filabusi
Date: Mon, 30 Jul 2007 12:21:43 +0200

Early days in Filabusi by Oswald Botton:



It was on the Celtic Mine that I (Oswald) met my first professional snake catcher. This resourceful young Australian visited many of the smaller mines dotted about the country, catching snakes and despatching them overseas where apparently there was a ready market, the price was based on 'per foot' of snake. His most popular hunting ground was the woodpiles stacked near the wood-burning boilers and from my own observation, reptiles of many kinds could be seen moving about in these piles in search of rodents, frogs and other prey. The method the young man employed was simple but it called for courage and fearlessness. Armed with a 6ft long stick, about the thickness of a broom handle, one end having a forked prong, he approached the reptile without hesitation, waiting his opportunity. Defiantly he speared it behind the head, in the next moment taking a firm grip of it near the pronged end. Meanwhile in its frantic efforts to be free the snake would coil itself around his arm at times lashing its tail in his face or against his chest. All this he endured with the utmost calm. When this young man was at work, pretty well every native in the vicinity both male and female were enthralled spectators, at a discreet distance of course. When he made to approach the mob with the reptile still at hand, I have never seen such a rapid exodus scattering in every direction, hysterical yells created a din that could be heard from afar.



The Celtic Mine shaft was sunk on a gentle incline, permitting easy access. At the outbreak of the rebellion in '96 the Celtic Mine was being actively worked and the staff consisted of several European men, with wives and children. The native rebels soon moved into the attack, heading for the occupied mines and farms where murder and pillage was their priority. The staff of the Celtic Mine suffered the same fate with only one survivor to tell the tale of horror. He said he was having a cup of coffee in his kitchen when he heard bloodcurdling yells. Looking up he saw a warrior about to hurl an assegai at him from through the window; quickly he summed up the situation and grabbed a steel mining drill as a weapon. He dashed out the back of the house. The mouth of the mineshaft was ahead. Somehow evading the frenzied yelling mob, he ran headlong down the shaft. At this moment the mineworkers were returning to the surface excited by the din and fearful of the safety of their wives and children. The survivor remained in the darkness of the shaft until dusk. When at last he summoned up enough courage to return to the surface, he found that the rebels had departed and total silence reigned. He did not stop to ascertain the fate of the others. In the stillness of that night he started the long walk to Bulawayo. Early the next morning he had the good fortune to meet a rescue party under the command of Jack Spreckley who was on his way to rescue the Europeans in the Filabusi area. However, sad to relate they found none alive, a monument was erected to their memory.

Another fine character, although not a member of the mine staff, was Bert Smallie - a bachelor and a man of sterling qualities with a great knowledge of mining. He had acquired the right to treat the Celtic Mine tailings by means of the cyanide process. Bert cultivated the pleasant habit of coming into the mill each evening for a chat when I was on long spells of night-duty. This was something I appreciated and always looked forward to. It is interesting to note that Bert was the discoverer of the Fred Mine, destined to become one of the best mines in the country, extending over an active period of nearly 60 years and producing many thousands of ounces of gold bullion. Such is the romance and the fascination attached to gold mining! When the Celtic Mine closed down later on, Bert Smallie for obvious reasons had to pack up too. He then entered into a partnership with his friend Furber, an old hand in mining, to work the Etal Mine in the Filabusi district. Vivian Botton, my older brother, was known to them and was engaged to work for them on Etal. It was on this mine that Vivian injured his back, serious complications set in. His back injury, a fractured spine, occurred when he was uncoupling about a mile of rusty water piping that had been laid some years previously, resulting in the ill fated displacement of his vertebrae. Vivian visited Dr Standish-White where he had a thorough check up. White said that Viv was completely run down and recommended that he should have a couple of week's bed rest. He stressed the fact that complete rest was essential if Vivian was to resume normal activities. The doctor's orders permitted Vivian to enjoy the company of all those at home. Mom arranged his bed in a corner of the dining room rather than in the room he occupied in the backyard. When Mom tucked him into bed that day Vivian was not to know that he would be bedridden for the next 6 years. A welcome and frequent visitor to his bedside was a young girl, Kay Hairbottle, whose friendship and constancy towards Vivian relieved him of much of the monotony of life throughout those years of convalescence. Their companionship endured and they married in Cape Town, living an active life until his death.



I found work at the nearby Bucks Reef mine, which consisted of 4 men: an Australian, James Black as Manager; Jimmy Smith a Scot who was the fitter; Howe the miner and myself. I was fortunate working under a considerate and able manager Jimmy, with whom I messed for a couple of years before his departure to join his family in Aberdeen, Scotland. Although he was some years my senior, we had much in common, with a mutual liking for the good things that life had to offer. Jimmy was particularly partial to cheese. He had a love for over-ripe cheddar and showed even stronger preference when it had reached an advanced state of putrefaction and teemed with maggots - the very sight of it sickened me. He would store a portion of the cheese in a tin canister until it reached the required 'state of ripeness'. Then armed with a table knife with a small blob of butter on the end of it, he would lift the lid off the canister. Immediately the dining room table would swarm with countless jumping maggots, these he mopped up with the buttered end of the knife. Jimmy would smack his lips in an effort to convince me that I was depriving myself of a gastronomic marvel too good to miss!

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