Saturday, June 5, 2010


Of the people who live lonely lives, on the veld or elsewhere, few do so of their own free choice.
Some there are shut off from all their kind - souls sheathed in some films invisible,

through which no thrill of sympathy may pass; some barred by their self-consciousness, heart hungry still, who never learned in childhood to make friends;

some have a secret or a grief; 

some thoughts too big or bad for comrade-ship.

But most will charge the Fate, the thoughtless choice, or hard necessity.

that drew them to the life apart.

They know the lesson that was learned of old :

It is not good for man to be alone.

Go out among them, ever moving on, whose white bones mark the way for other's feet - who shun the cities, living in the wilds, and move in silence, self-contained.

Who knows what they think, or dream, or hope, or suffer? Who can know?
For speech among that hard-schooled lot is but a half-remembered art.

Extract from the book JOCK OF THE BUSHVELD by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick 
Pictures from Nieu Bethesda by me

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