A Year Late and a Border Short

If you are curious about what life was like for regular conscripted army personnel in Apartheid South Africa, then read on as we follow an army medic through his National Service, including everything from navigating the five months of personal hell during basic training to setting a plaster cast and stitching someone's nose back on - oh yes!

We have resilience, contrasts, growing up and responsibility. But also boredom, exuberance and youthful abandon. Then we'll throw in a dash of history for context as we explore the blinkered micro-world that was our life at the time. It’s a spotlight on a part of the army that caught a lot of flak from the other armed services, and we had some rather scathing opinions hurled in our direction, mostly negative. So here we are, painting a more detailed picture of our experiences and responsibilities, and maybe setting the record straight - just a little bit. But don't worry, we keep it light with a dash of humour in the mix, because that's just how South Africans roll!

Our story starts in 1988, just at the end of the Angolan border conflict, so of course, I was a year late and a border short to make any meaningful difference. Hence the title of the book.

We kick off in the SAMS training camp in Klipdrif near Potchefstroom and we end up mainly in Pietersburg and its surroundings while we try to make sense of it all through the eyes of very young, very naïve individuals growing up fast. Through it all, as we try and keep our youthful exuberance in check (but not too much), we ponder the futility of the whole endeavour.

So I hope you will join me as I compress two years into a couple of pages. For those who have been there, I hope it may trigger a few memories and a wry smile or two.