This is the first time that the Knolly Estate has allowed the great man's memoirs to be published. What follows is the thirty-seventh section of 'The African Adventure'.

Freddie's estimate of a few miles was slightly off, but we arrived at the railway station with time to spare. It must be said that an ox cart at speed has to be experienced to be believed and it was enhanced by the fact that Freddie (who was unsure of the way) used the railway as part of the route. This seemed quite sensible until Bertie advised him that he could quite happily drive alongside the sleepers rather than over the sleepers.

The rain that Bertie had forecast began with a steady drip as we rolled into Bloemfontein and it had the effect of clearing the streets. With sore backsides and clothes that were starting to act as sponges, we unloaded our belongings and bid farewell to our driver with a tip and a homily. Bertie (so he told me some time after) tried to translate 'always wear a coat in the rain' into the Xhosa tongue, but judging from Freddie's reaction — he looked up at the sky nervously, grabbed some dust from the ground and rubbed it into his head while whistling — I am convinced that it came out as something altogether different; namely, complete gibberish. Freddie soon relaxed and was far happier with the coins of the realm that we pressed into his palm... and Bertie's rifle of course.

We made haste to the ticket office and purchased return tickets to Cape Town. I then waited while Bertie went off in search of something to read on the journey. The station bustled with passengers and those seeking shelter from the now heavier downpour. It was a great pity that we did not have time for a look around the town itself, to prepare us for what the big city had to offer.

Bertie soon returned with some local newspapers and a bag of confectionary. I looked at his purchases.

'Haven't you eaten enough already?' I asked.

Bertie thought about this. 'Possibly, possibly. But this fare is local confectionary and one should always try new things, what!'

I sighed and gestured towards the train. 'Come along. Clock up there says we have ten minutes to find a seat and get ourselves comfortable.'

The train and its carriages looked very worn compared with our mode of transport across France and Germany. However, we were comforted by the fact that they were British-built and therefore obviously had years of service left in them. One other thing: Mrs T was quite correct. There was no restaurant car and so what we had left in the hamper would do very nicely, thank you.

With luggage stowed by our feet and in the overhead hammocks, we settled our battered rumps into the seats which on closer inspection could have done with some re-stuffing. As we tried to settle, springs and other items of furniture construction interrogated certain areas of a gentleman's body that ought not to be molested (most certainly not by springs, in any case).

There came a mighty blast on the engine's whistle and, with a familiar jolting, the carriage began to move. As if on cue, the rain sped up too. What had been a steady, comforting pitter-patter on the roof became a thunderous, frightening roar and the sky was lit up with a flash of lightning. We had been rather fortunate during our time here on the 'dark continent', but now it seemed that the weather gods had decided to show us what we had been missing all this time.

The train soon built up a head of steam and attempted to leave the rain behind, but to no avail; it was to stay with us into the evening. I stared for ages, just watching the drops of rain running in small rivulets across the carriage window. It did nothing for my air of melancholy. As Southern Africa laid itself before me, my thoughts were of a lady and of land further north.

Bertie had long since given up trying to hold a conversation about the weather and it similarities to that at home. He had also tossed his local confectionary to one side, stating that it tasted too much like liquorice and hoped it did not have similar properties. I concurred. I most certainly did not want another episode like the one on the Isle of Wight ferry back in July '82.

Bertie now sat opposite me, dead to the world, newspaper over his face gently lifting up and down in time with his remarkable snoring, which in this instance sounded like a bizarre hybrid of lion's roar and muffled, de-tuned, baritone saxophone. I noticed a young lad sitting across the way who heard Bertie's performance; he chuckled, only to be hushed by his mother or nanny. I smiled and shrugged at them. The just woman rolled her eyes. Something had to be done. I patted him on the knee, causing him to wake with a jump.

'Are we there yet?'

'No, few more hours yet. I just fancied a walk to see if there is anyone else on this train we've met before. Coming with me?'

'You know you woke me out of a very odd dream, for which I'm grateful, but I was just getting to a good bit!'

'Of that I'm sure, but at least our nearest neighbours can now hear themselves think,' I replied as I indicated our carriage-mates.

The young lad giggled and received a nudge from his minder, who by now had a small volume of wool stuffed into each ear to defend against the noise.

'Oh dear. Snoring again, was I?'

I nodded.

'Oh dear. Up to the usual standard, was it?'

I nodded and got up. 'Coming, then?'

'Certainly am, Knolly. With such a witty riposte, you must be feeling better?'

I smiled. 'Not at all, just caring for my fellow man's health,' I replied with a smile.

Despite showing its age, the carriage seemed quite steady as Bertie and I made our way down the aisle and into the adjoining car.

'Are we looking for anyone in particular?' enquired Bertie, halfway along the aisle.

'Why do you ask?'

Well, it's the way you keep stopping to tie your bootlace every time someone's face is hidden by a newspaper or hat.'

'Testing a theory, Bertie. That's all.'

'Can I help in any way? Hullo, we seem to be slowing down.'

Bertie was soon distracted as we pulled in to a station.

Where's this, then? No matter — it is a good a chance to stretch our legs properly, eh Knolly?'

I had by this time made my way to the nearest window to see where we were. I was sure that the ticket office had made no mention of any stops on our way to the Cape. Bertie suddenly appeared at the other side of the window, which fair made me jump.

'It's a place called Beaufort West and we are stopping to take on some extra water. Rather odd, don't you think, considering the downpour we have travelled through?'

For a man of science, Bertie was often quite the fool. Beaufort West seemed to be a busy marshalling yard for the area and we had to wait some time for our turn at the watering station. We took the time to take in our surroundings in the sticky heat of what was now late afternoon.

As the guard was herding all of us waifs and strays back towards the train, a wagon pulled up with two young ladies and their offspring. They looked about as they alighted, as if not quite sure of their surroundings.

Bertie nudged me in the ribs. 'What ho! They look a bit lost. Shall we offer our services to them?'

It had not even crossed my mind to help. My focus was on one woman only, and she was many miles from me. I shot Bertie a look of which he took no notice and he went cheerily off to introduce himself and to offer his assistance. I had a feeling that his gentlemanly act might have repercussions later in our journey....

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