From a previous posting by Bob Molloy!
"The Oranjemund Ghost Train
In Oranjemund? Well, no, not quite but a little bit offshore. An offshore ghost train? Well, yes, but wait it gets even more complicated. Back in the late Fifties the gurus at head office in Kimberley had an approach from a company formed by Rolls Royce and a British tractor maker (can't recall the name) to supply the new Rolls bulldozer for work in Oranjemund.
Those were the days when Caterpillar reigned supreme with a very lucrative contract to supply such earthmoving machinery on the mine. The Americans were quickly up in arms and lobbied the Kimberley execs to fend off the marauding British. And well they might. The Brits, having been bankrupted by the Americans to pay for World War Two, were just coming out of a long period of indebtedness and were busily expanding their export trade.
As such they were a big threat to Wall Street and needed to be put back in their box. After all, now that the War had gobbled up their Empire (and almost anything else they owned) it was important to keep these uppity Brits in their place – which was just off the French coast and not nose deep in American business. The buggers had already invented radar, television and computers, and put the Comet – the world's first jet liner – into operation. Now a goddam fancy bulldozer? If it wasn't stopped they'd have America back to colony status.
The story goes that the fight went all the way to the top only to find – as the Americans did to their horror - that things had changed; the door was no longer open to the bright young Harvard hustlers. The Oppenheimer family had just had a generational handover from Sir Ernest to Harry who, rumour had it, wasn't so enamoured of Yank push and shove. Seems he had a liking for things Brit and issued an edict that at least these new machines must be given a trial.
So said, so done. One morning a convoy of heavy duty trucks came over the bridge, headed by one Charles Hendry (or Henley or some much, can't recall after all this time). It brought four of the most beautiful bulldozers imaginable plus truckloads of spares. Where the Caterpillar was built to move earth with little to love as far as appearance was concerned, these were things of beauty, and hell were they BIG! The Rolls diesel engines started easily, ran sweetly and used fuel efficiently. Pushbutton gearboxes made gear changes idiot-proof and speedy, and synchronized clutches ensured the tracks started simultaneously with none of that sideways lurch so typical of the old Caterpillar. Charles demonstrated deft handling in a series of tests that impressed everyone who could find an excuse to watch, including three of Caterpillar's top customer relations team.
Within days it was clear that Charles on his Rolls could outperform any Cat. It was a disaster from the Yank point of view. But wait, this wasn't a fair contest. The Cats were operated by locally trained recruits from Ovamboland. What would happen when they transferred to Rolls?
No prob, said Charles. A mere one-week training course had four Ovambo operators also scaring every Cat out of sight. And so it went. A month later and it was clear the new Rolls was king. All that was required was for Charles to set up training courses for the artisans who would service the machines and the new dozers could go into service. That too was quickly and efficiently organized. It looked like the end for Caterpillar.
Worse. To ardent republicans this was not just a sales problem; it was a disaster, it was the end of the world, it was Armageddon. Time to take off the gloves.
Charles said his goodbyes and went back to Blighty. Head office, satisfied it was now comparing apples to apples, arranged a three month trial under ordinary working conditions after which, all things being equal, they would put a contract on the table.
What happened next is unclear. Conspiracy theories have it that some dirty deal was done, many greenbacks were splashed around, and when the smoke cleared Rolls had a bloody nose. There was indeed an inquiry of sorts and some careers seemed to go sideways but otherwise nothing came of it, at least nothing was ever said in public. And that, but for Caterpillar triumph, was that.
So much for scuttlebut; the facts are that Charles had barely left the country before the Rolls dozers began breaking half-shafts. In no time all four were in the workshop, and were so repeatedly until they ran out of spares. Rolls, appalled, flew Charles back into the country post-haste with more spares. Within days of his arrival days all four machines were back in action and behaved perfectly – until Charles left again. It was uncanny. Perhaps Brit machines needed Brit operators.
Old hands, mumbling into their beer in Casey's, opined darkly that one should watch the machines in action. The talk was that they were being repeatedly driven straight at bedrock. I made a point of checking out that particular rumour, but in half an hour of observing a Rolls at work the operator behaved meticulously. Never at any time did I personally see a machine try to eat bedrock, nor did anyone else I spoke to. Such shenanigans were always seen by some anonymous observer who told someone who told someone else.
I should explain that in my free time I was the local correspondent for the SABC and several newspapers. As such I was keen to get a handle on the story, it would have been a major scoop, but could never tie down an actual witness or at least anyone who would go on the record.
But I did see the last act.
Charles flew back in and impounded all the machines. Rolls, we heard, had had a helluva bust up with the top boys at Kimberley. Harry was furious and kicked various backsides. Whatever the case, a posse of consultants arrived in town and were seen poking around the mine, talking to engineers, artisans and machine operators. Some people further up the local chain of command were looking very hassled. The rumour machine worked overtime: this or that one had been implicated in the Caterpillar slush fund; this or that one was "over the bridge" (fired). Fortunately for those in the gunsights the witch hunt, if that what it was, was short-lived. In a week they were gone.
But nothing appeared to have changed and the machines didn't go back into service. Gradually it filtered back that the Rolls top exec, unable to find anyone's head to put on a pike, threw a hissy fit and withdrew its sales offer despite a request from Kimberley to keep it on the table.
The bar talk was that Rolls did so on the grounds that their peerless product was not for sale to people who didn't appreciate quality. If I could have had the same access to information as the guys at the bar I think I'd have won a journalism award. But let's not be cynical, let's stick to the facts.
It was a fact that sale of the dozers had been withdrawn, information I had from several solid sources, no reasons given. Yet Charles's behavior seemed to contradict that. He was seen busily refitting a half-shaft to one of his beautiful machines. He clearly loved those bulldozers. No, he didn't actually croon to them but I did see him pat one on occasion.
Had Rolls-Royce repented? Where we going to see these machines on the mine after all? But no, official sources said, there would be no purchase of Rolls 'dozers. Yet Charles did seem to be strangely employed. He asked for and was given several old coco pans and was also give permission to remove the wheels, complete with rubber tyres, from a number of old trucks in the vehicle scrap yard just norwest of town. He proceeded to strip the coco pans of their pans and flanged wheels, and refit them with the truck wheels, spending some time at a lathe in Central Fields turning up bits and pieces. Then he lined up all his machines with the working machine at the head, each linked by a chain, followed by several rubber-wheeled coco pan chassis's laden with expensive spares including a number of Rolls diesel engines.
Ah! Now we could see what this dumb Brit had in mind. Having had his backside kicked by good ole Yankee knowhow he was intending to sneak out of town, taking with him all his British junk. Security had great pleasure warning him that such action was illegal and so did quite a few others, including some in high places rumoured to be on the Caterpillar team. He should just please stop right there and forget it. No heavy machinery, once inside the security area, ever left again. Didn't he know that?
But Charles just nodded and smiled, checked his line of machines again and then for days did nothing at all.
The Opposition hugged itself. Bar talk was that once the Brit had buggered off we could take advantage of all those expensive spares and gain a few cheap bulldozers as well. But what was Charles waiting for?
It turned out he had his eye on the calendar and the weather report. What he wanted were the right sea conditions and a Spring tide. The long awaited day dawned bright and clear. Word quickly spread that Charles had started his line of machines and was moving them. In no time a pack of Landrovers converged on his work area just to the south of Central Fields, close to where the Tank farm was later built. I parked on a dune and had a ringside seat.
Slowly Charles drove his trail of machines a hundred metres south then stopped. We watched fascinated as he unloaded a large pipe he had fabricated in the nearby workshops, a peculiar thing with a thinner pipe welded on one side. With the help of his team of Ovambos he fitted it to the upright exhaust of the lead machine. The smaller pipe, I was told later, was fitted to the engine air intake. He'd obviously fitted it previously as it all went together like clockwork, required only the fastening of a half dozen bolts. Suddenly the front machine had a four metre high exhaust and air intake stack.
Like an impresario aware of audience attention, Charles boarded the lead dozer machine with a flourish of his hat, started that gentle rumble of Rolls diesel and headed for the beach. It was to be the last time we were to hear that sound. Suddenly everyone got the picture. I was too far away to hear but I'm sure a collective groan of disbelief went up.
The day was perfect, the sea flat calm and the tide out to maximum. In fact I'd never seen it that far out. Steadily Charles drove his little convoy out across the exposed flats, into the water and hopped off in the shallows. But the machines kept going, and going, and going until all disappeared except for the tall exhaust/intake pipe which at last, far out to sea, disappeared under the water. There was one last bubble of exhaust gas and then nothing. For some reason the observers started applauding - until they realized whose side they were supposed to be on – then quickly got into their Landies and drove away.
Charles flew out next day, leaving a behind a sense that somehow we had been cheated. There was some talk of salvage but it came to nothing. Rolls had had the last laugh.
But what has all this to do with the Oranjemund ghost train? That name came up a couple of years later when a location for the Tank Farm was being sought. A diver, using Scuba, was given the job of scouting out a suitable spot on the seabed for the offshore pipeline. He went in just south of Central Fields and came out almost immediately, eyes standing out of his head. (I know because he was my yachting mate for a time at the newly built yacht basin in the old Pink P).
"Geez," he told his beach crew, "there's a (adjective deleted) ghost train down there. I kid you not, it's a real train."
He had found Charles's dumping spot for the Rolls dozers. For weeks afterwards he was mercilessly ribbed for that remark, earning the nickname of ghost buster.
That was more than 40 years ago. Doubtless those bulldozers are still there, if any venturesome diver wants to take a look, a ghostly shell-encrusted train heading forever seawards, a last thumb of the nose to a bunch of colonial upstarts.
Regards,
Bob."
Now the reason I reposted the tale, was due to the fact that I had an interesting chat with the chap in charge of the Survey Office.
He being a fairly newcomer to Oranjemund (in terms of some of use that have been here for the better part of thirty plus years).
What he wanted to know, was there any credibility to the tale of the Ghost Train that he had recently read about.
To which I replied, that Bob Molloy was the real deal, a journalist of note back in the day, a company employee that happened to be residing in the town during the hazy days of the big Bulldozer battle...
It turned out that this might explain one of the mysteries that they had recently being experiencing on the mine...
As some of you might be aware, due to the decades of building sea walls, the beach is no longer where it use to be , but rather a good couple of hundred meters further into the Atlantic Ocean.
This in turn allows the mine to "restart" the entire seawall process all over again and to this effect, they are using a dredge to rebuild the beaches and at the some stage suck material out of the coffer dams....
Some time towards the end of the year, the dredge ran into difficulty, it started to suck up chunks of metal..... in fact pieces of bulldozers......
This was strange, sue to the fact that the particular area was under the ocean a few short decades ago.....
well..... in all essence it would appear that Bob's Ghost train has once again been discovered and has slowly been removed from the ocean floor.....
In conclusion, see the importance of a mine to have a few "old timers" around....
Thanks for a great article Bob........
:emot112_2:
heard the story about the English crawlers from the late Barny Briel . recovery foreman . 1970's - and I fancied the story , but took it with a pinch of salt . Well . as my old friend would say " There you have it " prove of the pudding
maybe not the place for a pic of a person. Barney Briel. recovery Forman 1978
Barney Briel
Worked with Barney at 66M treatment plant in 1968. Great guy. I remember that after the plant closed in early 1969, he went to the recovery at 4 plant.
Malcolm