Why should we study history?

 Why study history? 

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Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

George Santayana, American philosopher (1863-1952)

We all have different opinions about history and its relevance. Some believe it the most important of subjects to study but others, like Henry Ford, think of it as a waste of time.

“I don’t know much about history and I wouldn’t give a nickel for all the history in the world. It means nothing to me. History is more or less bunk. It’s tradition. We don’t want tradition. We want to live in the present and the only history worth a tinker’s damn is the history we make today.”

Henry Ford, American industrialist (1863-1947)

I asked the question on social media, 'Is the study of history still relevant today, if so, why?' I received only one answer and that from Ian Pegg (@HistoryPegg) - 'Yes. To understand the here and now and the future we need to understand the past. We need to (learn) from the mistakes made in the past and put them into practice. Still so much that has not been uncovered.'

He's right. There is so much to learn about ourselves, to understand the why and wherefore things are as they are today, and we can only learn this by studying history. But history has other reasons for being relevant and important. It is used and abused in many ways.

Politicians manipulate history for propaganda purposes, statemen and diplomats study it to improve their negotiating and diplomacy skills.

"History will be kind to me for I intend to write it." Winston Churchill.

 Philosophers study history and the classics to understand why we are here. Historians to explain how we got here, and writers use it for inspiration. 

“Study history, study history. In history lies all the secrets of statecraft.”

Confucius, Chinese teacher and philosopher (551-479 BC) 

Even the quotes I am using in this article are part of history. The names Henry Ford and Confucius have become part of history and set the mind back to China 2500 years ago and then to the factory floor of the early twentieth century and onto Churchill's Britain of World War 2. Without history we would not know the people behind these quotes, or their contribution to shaping the worldvwe live in, and these would just be words on a piece of paper. 

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood.

History is part of our thought processes and imagination. Without it we would have no memories, no dreams, and no blueprints of what life should look like. Memories are history, our own personal stories of what has happened to us in the past, and our dreams for the future are built on those memories. History has made us who and what we are and without it our existance would have no meaning.

"We are not makers of history. We are made by history." Martin Luther King, Jr.

Sarah Raal - The Fighting Boer Woman.

 

Born in the 1870’s on a farm outside Jagersfontein in the Republic of the Orange Free State, Sarah Raal watched as her father and four brothers went off to fight the British Empire at the outbreak of the Second South African War. One day her mother and two younger siblings went to town to buy provisions and were accused, arrested and sent to a concentration camp for aiding the Boers. Her father became ill and was unable to continue on commando. He was arrested and sent to a concentration camp outside Uitenhage.

Sarah, realising she was alone, left the farm and moved around to avoid capture by the British forces. She was eventually captured and sent to the concentration camp at Springfontein from which she escaped.

She joined her brothers on commando with Commandant Niewoudt and took part in numerous guerilla engagements as part of the fighting force. She and her brothers were eventually captured. They were sent to a concentration camp in India where they were interred for more than seventeen months after the war had ended because they refused to swear allegiance to the British crown. Sarah, once again ended up in a concentration where she almost died. In 1936 she wrote a book “Met die Boere in die Veldt’ detailing her wartime experiences. It was republished in the year 2000 in English as ‘The Lady who Fought.’

 Portrait as published in   her book 'Met die Boere in die Veldt' published in 1938 by Nasionale Pers

The Marksman - A Short Story

The rider on the horse sat very still at the foot of the red mountain they called Poison. Far back in the ravine was a secret path that led to the summit and the Commandant's main camp. From the top of the mountain, you could see for miles, at least two days of miles, but the Khaki's had a new commander and they started travelling at night and in smaller groups, making it harder to see them and to shoot them. The rider had come to check on the water in the small dam. The sheep drank there. It was only a spot of mud in the heat of February but the animals would be alright for another day or two. Down on the flats there had been no tracks but, something didn't feel right, so the rider sat on the horse in the shade of the mountain with the heavy Mauser across the saddle, peering from under the brim of a wide, dusty hat at the dry, dusty veld, watching. Even in the shade, sweat dripped down the forehead stinging eyes and tickling the nose, but the rider dared not rub it away. In this war, the first to move was the first to die.

The was a small rock out in the open. There was something wrong with that rock. It was too smooth and the tree near it had a funny knob near the ground. The sheep stayed away from the dam. It was just a mud hole but the mud was cool and wet. If the soldiers were here, where were their horses? The rider could not see their horses. They must be hidden somewhere close. The Khaki's did not do well in the hot sun, always fanning themselves, but these were very still, must be fighting for a long time. A jackal moved towards the sheep but turned away from the big rock the commandant had executed the turncoat. Maybe their horses were behind it. The rider's biggest worry was the horse flicking its tail or shaking its head but it was a good horse and didn't.

A faint whistle reached the rider’s ears. It sounded like a bird, but it wasn't. The smooth stone became square and flat. The tree shook where there was no wind and the sheep came nearer the dam. On the far side of the big rock, a scared bird flew away. The rider made a decision. Moving quickly, the dusty figure dismounted and dropped to the sandy ground expecting a shot, but it never came. The Mauser was loaded as always. The khakis were too close. If they found the camp on top of the mountain, the English would send a larger force, and then the Commandant and his men would have to run again. They were tired of running. They missed their families. Did the English have families? The marksman shook the thought away and lined the muzzle on the rock. It was not now a time to think that the enemy were people. The khaki’s cannot go back to their camp. They came to kill, and they must be killed. They came out from behind the big rock in a single file. All the fingers on one hand plus one on the other were used to count them. That was more than the watcher had spotted on the veldt. Where had the others been? The marksman fired. The shot took the first Khaki in the chest. He was dead before his body hit the ground. Now, they could be counted on one hand. The others fell from their horses, scattered and disappeared in the khaki sand. A round helmet showed above a stone. The helmet was supposed to make them look taller and bigger. It only made them look silly. The Mauser was loud in the still air, and the helmet disappeared. It might just be a hole in the hat but it made a head scared. The marksman chuckled at the thought of the wet patch in the khaki crotch. Shots hit the mountain behind the marksman. The horse was hit and went down. It was a good horse, but there were others. The English had six. Puffs of smoke showed where the Khaki's were hiding and marksman took aim at one. A stone moved, and a shoulder appeared. Again, the Mauser spoke, and a cry rang out. That shoulder wouldn't be able to brace a Lee Metford. Again they let loose a volley, and again the bullets hit the mountain. Peering across the veldt from the hollow in the sand, the rifleman could see nothing moving. The air was hazy, and the bugs sang. To the left, a Khaki appeared, ran a few steps and dropped to the ground. The marksman took aim at the spot where the English had taken cover. They always made the same mistake. The Khaki thought he had not been seen and half stood up to run to the next shelter, which the marksman guessed would be the little bush near the dam, close to the sheep. The bullet hit the English man in the head. Again, they fired a volley, but there were few shots, and they did not come close. The marksman did not even duck but noticed where the shots came from. The shooter at the foot of the mountain aimed at a tree. It had a thin stem. The Mauser bullet would go through it. The marksman fired, and the soldier let out a cry of surprise and pain. If the shot through the helmet had been too high, there would be only two left. The marksman hoped there was only one left. A hot meal and a soft blanket would be nice this night. Nothing moved, but the marksman waited while the sun passed over the mountain and the shadow disappeared. A shot rang out. It struck the dead horse. The khaki thought he was hiding behind the carcass. The marksman aimed at the place where the shot came from. It was a shallow depression in the ground, darker than the sand around it. The sand trickled a bit. The English was getting ready to fire again. The rifle barrel appeared first, then a hand and face. The barrel was lowered, and the marksman at the foot of Poison Mountain fired. The Mauser bullet ricocheted off the side of the Lee Metford before hitting the soldier in the nose. The marksman quickly swung the Mauser to cover the spot where a hole had been put in the helmet but nothing moved. For a long time, the Mauser covered the spot. The marksman slipped backwards out of the hollow and crawled along the foot of the mountain into another hollow. It was not long before a shout rang out, and a soldier in Khaki charged into the open at the spot where the marksman had been. He stood there bewildered, and then the Mauser bullet hit him. He died without knowing where his enemy was.

The marksman waited until the sun was low in the west before standing up. Going down the hill, the marksman did not look at the dead soldiers but gathered up their horses and weapons and food and went up the ravine.

There was a small cabin amongst a stand of trees. Releasing the horses into a small corral, the marksman walked to the house where a woman stood in the doorway.

"Everything alright?"

"Ja, ma. The sheep are fine. The Khaki's chased away a jackal." the shooter replied before removing the dusty hat and shaking her long, brown hair out. The woman frowned at her daughter but did not ask any questions. Her husband, the Commandant, would come down from the mountain tonight with his sons, and she would give them the horses and extra rifles. Then her daughter would tell about the Khaki's. It was a pity the rifles were English and not Mausers, but that was war. Maybe there would be rain early this year.

The 1817 British Settlers

 

From The Moodie Book
 privately printed 1908

In 1817, two hundred settlers arrived at the Cape. They were labourers indentured to Benjamin Moodie, the Laird of Melsetter, and a Cape Town businessman named Hamilton Ross. However, most of these labourers broke their contracts and sought work and fortune elsewhere. Some married into Dutch families, while others became outlaws and hid in the Knysna forests.

Initially, these settlers came to inhabit the eastern frontier of the Cape Colony. However, the Governor of the Colony refused to allow them to settle there due to the volatile situation. As a result, the Laird purchased a farm named 'Groot Vaders Bosch' not far from Swellendam. In 1831 he was granted land at the mouth of the Breede River by the Governor, Sir Galbraith Lowry Cole. From there, he tried to establish a sea route to Cape Town and named this land 'Westfield'. A village called White Sands was established here.

Without his Scottish labourers, Benjamin Moodie was forced to employ locals at Groot Vaders Bosch. Meanwhile, Hamilton Ross abandoned Moodie and the settler project to continue his business in Cape Town. He became successful and entertained judges and Governors at his home, Sans Souci, Rondebosch. He advised Sir Harry Smith in setting up a new legislative assembly and he drafted the ordinance for the new Cape Town municipal council.

Benjamin Moodie. (2020, June 30). In Wikipedia.

 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benjamin_Moodie 

The first attempt at mass emigration to the Cape Colony was not very successful, but it paved the way for further settlement in 1820. Interestingly, two ships that brought out Moodie’s Party - the Brilliant and the Garland - also carried groups of the 1820 settlers three years later.

Many people who came out with Moodie left a lasting impact on the country. For instance, his grandson led a group across the Limpopo River in the 1890s and settled at Melsetter in Zimbabwe. The descendants of others participated in the Anglo-Boer War of 1899-1902 on the Boer side.

Thomas Hood and the church born under a tree

 

Thomas Hood was an immigrant schoolmaster who held church services under a tree and built a complex that included a school, a church, and accommodations for himself and his family.

He arrived in South Africa in 1820 and served at various schools as a teacher for the London Missionary Society. In 1828 he married Mary Ann Hockly in Grahamstown (Makhanda) before moving to the mission station at Bethelsdorp near Port Elizabeth (Gqeberha). From there he was sent to Pacaltsdorp near George.

In 1840, while he was serving in Pacaltsdorp, he was directed to go to Avontuur in the Lang (Long) Kloof. There he continued with his teaching and started a congregation with six members. The church grew rapidly to more than 100 members.

In 1850 he moved to Hopedale, a settlement on his brother-in-law James Stewart’s farm. In Hopedale, he held services under a ‘big blue gum tree’. The tree is still standing today and can be seen across the road from the church complex.

The foundation stone is dated 1843 but there is some dispute about this date as Hood was still resident in Avontuur at the time, and the church was completed in the 1850s. A school was also built behind the church. It is the furthest building in the photo below. The building on the left is a recent addition. The parsonage was attached to the school on the right-hand side. It is now a private residence. Hopedale and the nearby settlement of Lyon would later unite into one town called Uniondale.

1] Figure 1: By Suzi-k - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=28566449

2] Figure 2: Self

3] Figure 3: Suzi-k, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia