Riotous Assembly (19 page)

“My grandfather was C-in-C Zululand when this fort was built,” she told Dr Herzog
when she met him one day crossing the parade ground, and had astonished the
Superintendent by her grasp of military history.

“On this very parade ground in 1876 the Greys, the Welsh Regiment and the 12th Hussars
marched past my grandfather before leaving for the Zulu War,” she told the astonished
doctor, and went on to give details of the uniforms of the various branches and the
character of the officers in command.

“What a remarkable memory you have,” he said, “to remember these things.”

“Part of the family history,” said Miss Hazelstone and had gone on to explain the
mistakes made in the campaign, and in particular at the Battle of Isandhlwana. Dr Herzog
was so impressed with her interest, and especially by her knowledge of the Boer War and
the part played in it by Dr Herzog’s own grandfather, that he invited her to his house for
tea and the discussion was continued until supper.

“Quite extraordinary,” he said to his wife when Miss Hazelstone went back to the ward.
“I had no idea my grandfather was responsible for our victory at Magersfontein.”

The following day he sent a memorandum to the staff, instructing them that Miss
Hazelstone was to be given all the help and encouragement she needed to continue her
study of military history and the part played in it by Fort Rapier.

“We have a duty to encourage patients to pursue their hobbies, particularly when
they may well be of benefit to the hospital,” he told Dr von Blimenstein who complained
that Miss Hazelstone had stopped attending her therapy classes.

“Miss Hazelstone hopes to publish the history of Fort Rapier and any publicity must
surely rebound to our credit. It’s not every day that lunatics publish military
history.”

Dr von Blimenstein had reservations on that score, but she kept her thoughts to herself
and Miss Hazelstone had continued her researches with growing enthusiasm. She had
discovered regimental records in a trunk in the basement of what was now the staff
canteen, but which had in earlier days been the officers’ mess. These had led her to
unearth even more interesting relics in the shape of discarded uniforms in the
quartermaster’s stores.

“We really ought to hold a pageant,” she told the Superintendent. “The uniforms are
there and while they do need patching up in places, because the cockroaches have got at
them you see, there’s no doubt they are authentic and it will give all the patients
something to work for. It’s so important for morale to create a common aim and something
to look forward to.”

Dr Herzog had been impressed by the idea.

“A pageant of Fort Rapier’s history,” he said, “what a splendid idea,” and his mind
toyed with the idea of an open day in which the public and the Press could see the wonderful
work being done on behalf of mental health in Zululand.

“I thought we might start with a march-past,” Miss Hazelstone continued, “followed by
several tableaux commemorating particularly memorable feats of courage in the
history of South Africa.”

Dr Herzog was hesitant. “I don’t want any mock battles,” he said anxiously.

“Oh no, nothing like that,” Miss Hazelstone assured him, “I was thinking more of purely
stationary representations of the events.”

“We can’t have the patients getting too excited.”

“Quite,” said Miss Hazelstone who had long since ceased to think of herself as a patient.
“I take your point. We shall have to see that the whole affair is conducted with truly
military discipline. I was thinking of including as one of the set-pieces your
great-grandfather’s heroic defence of his homestead in the 6th Kaffir War.”

Dr Herzog was flattered. “Were you really?” he said. “I had no idea my family played
such an important role in the military history of the country.”

“The Herzogs were practically the Afrikaans counterpart of the Hazelstones,” Miss
Hazelstone told him, and with the knowledge that the pageant would enhance the reputation
of the Herzog family as well as that of the hospital, the Superintendent gave his
permission for the event to be held.

In the weeks that followed Miss Hazelstone threw herself into the preparations with an
enthusiasm that communicated itself to the other inmates of Fort Rapier. She took
command of the organization with all the natural authority of Sir Theophilus’
granddaughter and with an attention to detail made possible by her wealth. Bales of red
cloth were ordered from Durban on Miss Hazelstone’s account, and the patients in the
sewing-rooms were kept busy making new uniforms.

“It certainly brightens the place up,” Dr Herzog said to Dr von Blimenstein as they
watched Miss Hazelstone drilling a squad of manic depressives on the parade ground one
day.

“I can’t help feeling uneasy,” Dr von Blimenstein said. “Is it really necessary to
include the Battle of Blood River in the programme? I’m sure it will have an unfortunate
effect on the black patients.”

“Our chief responsibility is to the whites,” said Dr Herzog, “and it can only help
them to see the great events of the past re-enacted here. I have every hope that by
participating in them our patients will come to see that there is still a place for the
mentally sick in modern South Africa. I like to think of this pageant as drama therapy on
a vast scale.”

“But surely, Doctor, you don’t consider insanity to be simply a matter of morale?”
Dr von Blimenstein said.

“Yes, I do, and if it isn’t it ought to be. Besides,” said the Superintendent, “the
pageant will help to sublimate some of their aggression.”

On the parade ground Miss Hazelstone’s squad marched past the saluting base which the
carpenters had erected between the two field guns.

“Eyes right,” Miss Hazelstone shouted, and two hundred pairs of eyes fixed themselves
manically on Dr Herzog. The Superintendent saluted.

“Eyes front,” and the squad marched on.

“Most impressive,” said Dr Herzog. “What a pity we didn’t think of this before.”

“I just hope we don’t have cause to regret it,” said Dr von Blimenstein
pessimistically.

As the day of the pageant approached, Miss Hazelstone had to deal with several
problems. One was the question of assegais for the Zulu warriors. Dr Herzog was
adamant.

“I’m not having hundreds of black patients running around brandishing spears. God
alone knows what would happen.”

In the end the problem was solved by the purchase of one thousand rubber spears which
had been used in the making of a film a year or two before.

Another problem centred round the question of the music and the sound effects to
accompany the tableaux.

“I was thinking of the 1812 Overture” Miss Hazelstone explained to the conductor of
the hospital band.

“We can’t reach those heights,” the bandmaster objected, “and in any case we haven’t got
a cannon.”

“We could use the field guns,” Miss Hazelstone said.

“We can’t go round letting off loud bangs in the hospital grounds. It would have a
terrible effect on the anxiety cases.”

In the end it was agreed that the band would restrict itself to simple marches like
Colonel Bogey and tunes like Goodbye Dolly Gray and that a recording of the 1812 Overture
should be played over loudspeakers to accompany the battle scenes.

A dress rehearsal was held the day before the pageant and Superintendent Herzog and
the staff attended.

“Simply splendid,” Dr Herzog said afterwards. “One has the feeling that one is
actually present, it’s so real.”

 It was quite by chance that Kommandant van Heerden chose the afternoon of the
pageant for his visit to the hospital. Unlike the Mayor of Piemburg and other
notables, he had not been invited because it was felt that Miss Hazelstone might not like
it.

“We don’t want anything to put the old lady off her stride, and having the police here
would only remind her of her brother’s execution,” the Superintendent said.

As his car passed into the grounds of Fort Rapier Kommandant van Heerden noticed that
a new air of festivity seemed to have come to the hospital.

“I hope it isn’t too open,” he said to the driver who had replaced Konstabel Els, as the
car passed under a banner which announced Open Day. They drove up to the parade ground
which was decked with regimental flags and Kommandant van Heerden got out.

“Glad you could make it Kommandant,” Dr Herzog said, and led the way to the saluting
base, where the Mayor and his party were already seated. The Kommandant looked
nervously around as he took his seat.

“What’s going on?” he asked one of the aldermen.

“It’s some sort of publicity stunt to foster public interest in mental health,” the
alderman said.

“Funny place to hold it,” said the Kommandant. “I thought everyone up here was
supposed to be barmy. Good heavens, look at those kaffirs.”

A detachment of schizophrenic Zulus marched across the parade ground to take up their
position for the tableaux.

“Who the hell gave them those spears?”

“Oh it’s all right, they’re only rubber,” said the councillor.

The Kommandant sank down in his chair in horror. “Don’t tell me,” he said, “this whole
thing has been organized by Miss Hazelstone.”

“Right first time,” said the councillor. “Put up the money herself. Just as well she did
too. I hate to think what this little lot cost.”

Kommandant van Heerden wasn’t listening. He rose from his chair and looked
desperately round for some way of escaping, but the crowd round the saluting base was too
dense to pass through, and in front the march-past had already begun. He sank back into his
chair in despair.

As the band played the regiments formed up and marched towards the stand. Red-coated and
surprisingly well drilled for their mental health, they swung past the Superintendent
and at their head there marched the familiar figure of Miss Hazelstone. For a moment the
Kommandant thought he was back in the hall at Jacaranda House, and staring once more at the
portrait of Sir Theophilus. Miss Hazelstone’s uniform was a replica of the one the Viceroy
had worn in the painting. Her face was partially obscured by a plumed pith helmet but on
her chest were the stars and medals of her grandfather’s disastrous campaigns. Behind the
first regiment which was the Welsh Guards, came the others, the county regiments of
England, appropriately less in step than the Guards (it had been difficult to find
enough compulsive cases to be really smart) but shuffling along with determination
all the time. After them came the Scots regiments recruited from women patients wearing
kilts and led by a chronic depressive playing the bagpipes. Last of all was a small
detachment of frogmen in rubber suits with flippers who had difficulty keeping in
step.

“A nice touch of modernity, don’t you think?” Dr Herzog murmured to the Mayor as
twenty crazed faces turned their masks towards the stand.

“I hope those kaffirs aren’t going to come too close,” said the Mayor anxiously. There
was no need to worry. The black lunatics were not allowed the privilege of marching past
the stand. Miss Hazelstone was arranging them for the first tableau.

In the interval Kommandant van Heerden left his seat and spoke to the
Superintendent.

“I thought I told you to keep Miss Hazelstone under close surveillance,” he said
angrily.

“She’s made remarkable progress since she has been here,” Dr Herzog answered. “We like
to see our patients taking an interest in their hobbies.”

“You may,” said the Kommandant, “but I don’t. Miss Hazelstone’s hobbies happen to
include murder and you go and let her organize a military parade. You must be out of your
mind.”

“Nothing like allowing the patients to dramatize their aggressive tendencies,”
said the Superintendent.

“She’s done that quite enough already,” said the Kommandant. “My advice is to stop this
thing before it’s too late.”

But already the first tableau had begun. A square of cardboard ox wagons stood in the
centre of the parade ground and around them gathered the Zulu schizophrenics brandishing
their spears. After several minutes the Zulus lay down on the tarmac in attitudes
supposed to represent agonizing death.

“Blood River,” said the Superintendent.

“Very realistic,” said the Mayor.

“Bloody insane,” said Kommandant van Heerden.

A polite round of clapping greeted the end of the battle. For the next hour the
history of South Africa unfurled before the spectators in a series of blood-curdling
battles in which the blacks were invariably massacred by the whites.

“You would think they’d get tired of lying down and getting up and lying down again,” the
Mayor said when the Zulus had gone through their death agonies for the umpteenth time. “Must
keep them physically fit, I suppose.”

“So long as the bastards don’t win, I’m happy,” said the Kommandant.

“I think they do have a moment of triumph in the finale,” said Dr Herzog. “It’s the
Battle of Isandhlwana. The British ran out of ammunition and were massacred.”

“Do you mean to tell me,” said the Kommandant, “that you have allowed white men to be
defeated by blacks? It’s insane. What’s more it’s illegal. You are encouraging racial
hatred.”

Dr Herzog was nonplussed. “I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he said.

“Well, you had better think of it now. You’re breaking the law. You’ve got to put a stop
to it. I’m not prepared to sit here and watch anything so outrageous,” the Kommandant
said firmly.

“Nor am I,” said the Mayor. Several councillors nodded in agreement.

“I don’t really see how I can,” Dr Herzog said. “They’re about to begin.”

In the middle of the parade ground Miss Hazelstone had organized the British camp and
was superintending the placement of the two old field guns. Several hundred yards away
the Zulu army was gathered ready for its moment of triumph.

“I insist that you stop the battle,” said the Kommandant.