The Women of Rhodesia | Joseph Columbus Smith

Written by COLUMBUS SMITH

Rhodesia. Tiny country under communist siege 1963-’79. Every male in uniform. Regulars like me served year round (42 days in bush, 10 day R & R cycle) but even reservists served fully six months a year “in the bush” hunting CTs as we called them. Communist Terrorists (CTs) armed & trained by either the Red Chinese OR the USSR.

All the women (like the gal below) took their own role as “troop morale boosters” very seriously. Some took their troop booster role a little too seriously and would occasionally forget they were married or engaged.

If I have any criticism of Rhodesian Women it isn’t that they couldn’t always connect MY NAME –to me– but their very bad timing when they shouted out some other guy’s name.

Rhodesia troups women — Circa 1975-Dec 1979. Note ubiquitous FN 7.62 mm NATO rifle (.308) (Photo from the Photo Archives of Andrew Young on Facebook.) This gal is seeing her guy off…to the Sharp End. She is wearing a print dress made at the nearby David Whitehead Textile plant which also produced the Rhodesian Camouflage uniforms the men in the truck are wearing. Note the lady is holding the very heavy —just cleaned— “FN” just a little bit away from her clean dress. She doesn’t want it spotted with gun oil.

These women were gorgeous, or so they seemed at the time. They were shampooed, lipsticked, perfumed and wore pretty dresses. Women’s lib was never mentioned the entire time I was there (37 months… age 33 to 36.)

Hard to imagine that there was (is) anything a Colonial Woman couldn’t get from a man. Shrinking violets they weren’t/aren’t to this day. They hunted alone and most often around Salisbury’s main rail station.

One effective hunting tactic used was to dab at their eyes with a flowered handkerchief as one train pulled away from the station, full of troops bound for the front. Just as THAT train left another was rolling into the station full of very appreciative (but chivalrous) males arriving for their 10 days of R & R after weeks “in the bush.”

The sight of a distraught woman weeping on a rail platform of course overwhelmed me. It activated every ounce of chivalry (?) in me and had the same effect on almost every soldier who spilled out of the trains.

But as I look back on it I don’t actually recall ever seeing either a wet eye or a wet handkerchief (used for dabbing at imaginary tears.) But these grieving ladies would permit themselves to be comforted, walked home, and the ritual of forgetting male names, and then recalling the wrong one —at just the wrong time— began.

My cycle of life was idyllic. 42 exciting days hunting bad guys… followed by 10 days of R & R. 42 days plus 10 days R & R. 42 days plus ten days. Nothing was missing. Nothing.

But life can’t be that simple and satisfying. But it was! A man. A woman. High risk and high excitement in the combat zone AND in the bedroom. Complete.