Blood Lily
By Mason Cranswick
Published by 30 Degrees South Publishers (2009)
ISBN: 978-0-958489-19-5

IT is absurd that today Rhodesian writers want to create the impression Government has failed to uphold democracy and human rights.
Their narratives of pre- and post-independent Zimbabwe suggest blacks were better off under the Ian Smith regime.
To them, the black Government has failed its people.
The whiteman is a saint, they tell us, and they believe that narrative.
Really?
Rhodies are not fooling anyone; they do not care about the welfare of the blackman.
They never did and will never do.
They are just a bitter lot.
Rhodesia, their paradise, their dream crumbled right in their faces.
Now they find solace in writing books trying to relive the memories of a long lost dream.
If it helps them grieve, good for them, but problems arise when they not just exaggerate events, but write outright lies.
In his book Blood Lily, Mason Cranswick, who served in the Rhodesian army, talks about his life experiences in Rhodesia and Zimbabwe.
It is evident through the book that the writer misses the ‘good old days’ when he and fellow whites dominated the country.
Who would not; life was rosy for whites in Rhodesia.
The same, however, cannot be said for blacks.
Blacks were reduced to third-class citizens in their own country.
Ironically, Cranswick creates the impression that he had the interests of indigenous people at heart.
In a conversation with his black childhood friend Simba before independence, Cranswick gives the impression he was sympathetic to the plight of the blackman.
“You know, at some point the black people of Rhodesia will have to make a stand against discrimination, or it will never change,” Cranswick tells Simba.
“You mean like the terrs are doing?” Simba asks.
“For God’s sake, don’t be ridiculous, Simba,” Cranswick responds.
“The terrs are murdering scum.
“We’ve discussed discrimination so many times its going to change anyway.”
In all fairness, did Cranswick think whites were going to respect blacks’ calls to be given their rightful position through talks?
He claims the war was not necessary.
However, it was!
A message had to be sent across to the whiteman that the country belonged to blacks.
Typical whiteman style, cunning and selfish, they were not having any of that.
They were not budging, leaving locals no option but to take up arms.
Blacks had no choice, but to fight to reclaim their country.
If only the whiteman had realised the country was not his, the war would not have taken place.
Cranswick writes about his memorable battles during the struggle.
The way he talks about the Chimoio attack of November 23 1977 leaves a lot to be desired
Accounts by freedom fighters of what happened on that fateful day explicitly show this was genocide by the barbarous colonial regime.
The accounts reveal forms of painful deaths that black freedom fighters and most refugees at Chimoio endured at the hands of white butchers.
To Cranswick, this was a good day in office for the Rhodesian army.
“Now this is our first target. Chimoio Camp, ninety kays from the Rhodesia-Mozambique border. It’s the headquarters for Robert Mugabe’s war efforts. There’re 9 000 gooks at Chimoio. We’re sending in 185, repeat, 185 men,” were the orders the Rhodesia troops received the day before the attack.
“There may be civilians in the camp.
“Leave them alone.
“But don’t take chances.
“If it could be a gook, you’ve got to shoot him before he nails you.”
On the eve of the horror attack, Cranswick recalls how they went to bed at 7pm, but were still awake at 2am because they were ‘too excited.’
Killing the blackman was fun for them.
How pathetic!
On the day, Cranswick recounts how he was ‘nailing any terr that moved all the way.’
“I rolled on the ground, released my parachute harness, then scrambled onto my knees, firing at terrs as they sprinted past,” he says.
“Most ran for their lives, AKs slung over their shoulders.
“Got him! Another terr dropped.
“Then another – I hit him twice in the head.
“He’d virtually run straight into me, not even looking, he was so desperate to get away from the Hunter’s bombs.”
Unashamedly, the writer celebrates killing innocent children and women housed at the camp.
Yet he claims to be concerned about the welfare of blacks.
After successfully completing the mission, Cranswick and his fellow soldiers rejoiced and said: “We’ll tell our grandchildren about this raid.”
“Reports were filtering in that more than 2 000 terrs had been killed in the two raids, with thousands more wounded,” Cranswick writes.
“Only one Rhodesian soldier and one pilot had been killed and eight wounded.”
To them it was a success.
To the freedom fighters it was a huge blow.
The blow, however, did not deter them from continuing with the war.
In fact it left them more determined than ever and that is how freedom fighters decimated the Rhodesian forces at the Battle of Mavonde in 1979.
And independence came in 1980.
Cranswick and his fellow Rhodies can crow about their ‘glories’ but that does not change the fact that Rhodesia is long gone.
After all, in Shona they say: Matakadya kare haanyaradze mwana.