If you look into a baboon’s sly but stupid eyes (said Oom Schalk Lourens) you will understand why thieves usually get caught.
Captain David Lawrence, hero of the Durham Light Infantry’s charge at the Battle of Abjaterskop, recipient of the Victoria Cross, became part of Willy’s official knighthood plan the minute he produced the big blue and mentioned the deal suggested by Johnny Zulu and Manny Porra: Willy could have the big blue if the two diggers had tenure at work. Willy never called it the big blue. For him it was the Gibson Diamond right out the gate.
That Monday afternoon Willy must’ve sent a fast messenger on horseback, because Captain Lawrence was summoned less than an hour after the government cheque cleared. His wife Mary, writing yet another letter to their only surviving son, was surprised when he said he was going out.
“We’re about to have dinner,” Mary said.
“Sir William sent a note.”
That was enough. Mary knew Willy saved her from the genteel poverty of life with a damaged war hero, and he helped them buy the cattle farm their only son was now working in the shadow of Abjaterskop in the Marico district.
Yes. Where her husband lost his right eye to enemy fire. Cannon shrapnel. That’s what he told everybody. Only Mary knew the actual truth. The Boers holding Abjaterskop didn’t have cannon. He stabbed himself with a bayonet in the eye. The Captain confessed all in a flood of tears shortly after Mary took his virginity on their wedding night. Shawn, their son, didn’t know the truth. He would probably not have minded much. After all, he did share his father’s gift of the gab. Let’s call a spade a spade: they were both terrible liars.
Willy was in his snooker room when Captain Lawrence arrived. He was smoking a cigar, trying to hold the smoke in his mouth because he believed it would soothe his toothache.
“The government cheque cleared, David. One hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”
“Congratulations, Sir William.”
Willy coughed cigar smoke. “Handing-over ceremony’s Wednesday noon, Prime Minister’s residence, his wife’s arranging everything. It will be a relief to have that bloody stone out of this house.”
“Yes, sir.”
“By the way, we need a secret code for it. Let’s call it Miss Emily’s Smile, shall we?” He gave Captain Lawrence the kind of smile you smiled when you knew you were being foolish. “Bloody thing’s just as big and bright.”
The Captain tried to smile back. “Miss Emily’s Smile. Good one, sir.”
“Took me half the night to come up with that.”
“It’s quite musical, sir.”
“Thank you, David. Prime Minister Botha still wants me to make a bloody speech, then he’ll make a speech, his whole cabinet will be there. Not to mention the bloody reporters.”
“Sir? Shouldn’t we be doing this quietly?”
“You tell Louis Botha that. He craves the publicity.”
So did Willy, actually. Could help with the old knighthood.
“Then we’ll just have to muddle through, sir.”
“That’s the spirit, David. Whatever happens, you stay close to me. The new uniform fits?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You hang onto that the chest right through the ceremony, no-one else touches it.”
The chest stood in a glass cage, it was hand-carved, made of solid yellow wood, lined with purple velvet, just large enough for the Gibson Diamond and perhaps later the crown it would live in.
“Yes, sir.”
“The chest must remain locked at all times. You’ll have the only key. Where will our bloody expensive detectives be?”
“Outside in the courtyard. I’m meeting them first thing tomorrow. Three of the best the police could provide, under cover as civilians, obviously. We’ll depart for Pretoria Station immediately. The train will be ready and waiting.”
“Protect that key with your life. And I don’t care what the ship’s captain says, the chest sitting in his safe means his bloody safe belongs to us. I want a detective watching it all the way to England.”
“They’ll be taking turns.”
“In London you’ll surrender the chest and the key to Winston Churchill, no-one else.”
“You have my word, Sir William.”
“David, when I close my eyes I see thieves everywhere, just waiting to grab it. I’ll be very happy when this is over.”
“I assure you no-one’s going to touch Miss Emily’s Smile, sir,” Captain Lawrence said, and at that moment he believed it.
“You’re a good man, Captain.” Willy tried to smile but his mouth hurt too much. “While you’re doing your duty I’ll be doing mine. Botha wants to go off on another ride. You cannot frighten that Boer, he seems to be falling in love with my little hobby.”
Leaving the snooker room, the Captain nearly walked into Miss Emily. She was waiting to join her husband.
“Captain,” she smiled at him.
“Miss Emily,” he nodded.
She seemed nervous.
Outside the great house Neef Berg waited by the Captain’s buggy, stroking the neck of the horse. His presence was completely unexpected. What was Prime Minister Botha’s lackey doing here this late in the day?
“Captain Lawrence,” he grinned and offered the reins. “May the Lord protect you on your journey.”
“Thank you, very kind of you,” the Captain mumbled.
He knew Botha’s bodyguard took part in Sir William’s alarming hobby, but what the blazes was he up to now? Neef Berg never did anything on his own, there were even public jokes about him following his master into the bathroom. Did Botha order the slimy snake to watch the Englishman who would be responsible for Miss Emily’s Smile?
Captain David Lawrence was nowhere near brave enough to ask.
Succeeding at the task laid upon him, safely escorting Miss Emily’s Smile all the way to England, already presented the Captain with a number of grave concerns. He didn’t need perfect eyesight to see there could be more trouble ahead.
Winston Churchill was as ready as the train waiting at the railway station in Pretoria. He sat in his warm bath puffing on a cigar. The bath was an iron monster squatting in its steam-fogged, tiled domain at Chartwell, the Churchill home in Kent, South East England. At this stage of his career Churchill was still handsome and only slightly plump as he relaxed in the navel-deep water, dictating to a suited and bow-tied secretary who sat a safe distance away to escape the occasional deluge when his employer sounded. Exuberantly, like a whale. He often did that. Probably lost a lot of cigars that way.
With Prime Minister Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman cooling in his coffin, Deputy Minister Churchill was the nearest thing to a strong politician the United Kingdom and its newish King had at that moment. Louis Botha in distant Pretoria knew that when he wrote to Churchill, asking him to persuade King Edward VII to accept the Gibson Diamond as a heart-felt gift from the newly formed Union of South Africa.
Botha met Churchill briefly during the war. Under pretty awkward circumstances.
Back then Churchill was a meddling young reporter who considered himself a fighting man. Botha caught him wearing a revolver (not exactly reporter’s issue) and threw him in prison. Churchill managed to escape and later wrote of his courageous swim through a raging, crocodile-infested river to freedom. Really? The mild stream in question couldn’t easily accommodate creatures as large as crocodiles anymore and hardly ever raged.
We know various historical writings claim the King said no to the gift at first, but then Churchill explained just how important the new Union of South Africa and its mineral riches were to the Crown and the upkeep of its royal palaces. After that Churchill assisted his liege with the dictation of a royal letter fulsome in its joyous acceptance of the gift.
Churchill dictated nearly everything in his bath, even the books he wrote. Since the matter of the Gibson Diamond preyed on his mind at that time, he was dictating the short letter of thanks King Edward VII would receive the next day, Tuesday the 9th of November:
“The Union government procured the item from a mine owner called – please look up owner’s name – for the amount of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds. We have it on good authority that the item could be insured for ten times that amount. That would indeed make said item the crowning glory of Your Majesty’s crown jewels – crowning’s a bit much, take it out – and we as a nation will indeed be forever indebted to Your Majesty for accepting the gift for yourself, your successors and indeed the United Kingdom as a whole. Yours, etcetera.”
Churchill didn’t know the mine owner was the nit who wanted to be a knight – Botha carefully kept that from him – and he shouldn’t be blamed for his excitement about the item coming to England, but he was jumping the gun a bits. The great diamond still had a perilous train journey and ocean crossing ahead of it.
Not that Churchill was unaware of the risks, but he probably didn’t want to spoil the thrill of it all by dwelling on the obvious: What if something went seriously wrong and the King’s gift never reached its destination?
Gerrit Johannes and his fellow conspirators were already working towards that end. Miss Emily pillow-talked the necessary information out of Willy. Gerrit Johannes then bought the train tickets for himself and three companions, two first class and two second class. The first-class tickets were obviously meant for him and Miss Emily; Johnny Zulu and Manny Porra would’ve found themselves hurled violently from first class.
Yes: Gerrit Johannes did convince the two rogues to help him steal the big blue. Using the same logic that worked on Miss Emily, Gerrit Johannes reminded them they had erred in their deal with Willy and the Captain. He persuaded them cutting the big blue into four smaller blues could rain down a fortune of two hundred thousand pounds. Half of the cash would then go to Johnny Zulu and Manny Porra (one hundred thousand pounds were the equivalent then of at least twenty million today) and the other one hundred thousand Gerrit Johannes would share with his contact inside Heavenly Mansion. Yes: he lied to them about the amount the diamond could raise, but he didn’t lie about his contact inside Heavenly Mansion. He just didn’t name her.
And he had no intention of cheating them out of the share he promised them. They did save his life. And what happened to them when they were children…they were orphans like him, abused in other ways, but still orphans like him.
It took some doing, but Miss Emily finally convinced Gerrit Johannes she could disguise herself successfully and join him as his wife on the train journey to Durban.
Her argument went like this: “You actually think I’m going to sit here and play house with Willy? What if you try to get the diamond and fail, how are you going to come back and fetch me? Botha will have me shot as a traitor if Willy doesn’t do it first!”
She knew how to play a man. Working mining saloons had sharpened her considerable survival skills. Not least among them: how to shoot and kill with one shot. Her weapon of choice was a delightful little thing she could hide in intimate places: a Remington Double Barrel Derringer with pearl grip.
The widows Agnes and Gladys were still in the dark. They knew precisely nothing. Johannes had been less than honest with them.
His story went like this: “Surely I can’t live off you for the rest of my life, please, I’m far too proud for that. I need to do something for myself. I need to shoot elephants.”
What in heaven’s name for? the widows demanded to know.
“Their teeth,” he said.
He was lying through his, of course.
The evening before Miss Emily’s Smile started its eventful train journey, while Captain Lawrence was heading home with his horse and buggy, a telegraph message flew between Pretoria and a railway station on the route to Durban. Sent in Kitchen Dutch, the bastard language busy turning into Afrikaans, the message tried to hide its big secret but just ended up coy.
In translation it went like this: “ Comrade Grootjan stop the hour is near stop get horses ready stop keep your powder dry stop”
It could appear strange to use a modern exclamation of surprise here – “What the fuck?” comes to mind – but it would not be inappropriate.
And who the hell was Comrade Grootjan? Why did he have to keep his powder dry?
A hugely entertaining story. Filled with comedy and intrigue.