An eight year old's memoir of Rhodesia during the Bush War.

For my birthday this year my son who greatly admires Alexandra Fuller's writing gave me 'Don't let's Go to the Dogs Tonight'. I read this well written memoir while on holidays and very much enjoyed it.Fuller writes with honesty, insight and vivacity resonant of Molly M. Kaye's writings on the Indian Mutiny and her childhood growing up in India. The words spring off the page, the style explosive, her story of growing up in Rhodesia during the Bush War written without sentimentality of her loving but eccentric racist, hard-drinking parents who teach their children once they are five years old to strip and clean a gun and keep it in readiness on their beds at night in case of attack. She writes of her beautiful older sister Vanessa whom she describes as 'the conversation-stopping beauty in our family' without envy, with awe even, admitting to her own desire to win the approval of her Dad and be like 'an army guy' cleaning and loading her father's FN rifle and her Mum's Uzi wllingly, not wanting to be classed as just one of what her father angrily calls, 'Bunch-of-bloody-women-in-the-house'. But it is the languid Vanessa when goaded by her father to 'Bloody well strip and clean your gun' who surprises them all when she decisively lifts the heavy gun and with deadly precision fires off a few rounds, putting shots clean through the head and heart of the target, a cutout crouching terrorist figure stationed at the end of the garden. Fuller labels these the happy years and describes them with a certain humour and deprecating honesty. When the greatest tragedy occurs Fuller is eight years old and she leads into it with the line 'It's during Christmas when everything is green-growing with the rainy season'. While her parents take Vanessa with them and go shopping they leave Alex at her Aunty Rena's farm in charge of her three year old sister Olivia whom they all adore. There is an entrancing store on the farm sweet with treasures. Bright nylon dresses hanging from beams in the roof among the gleaming silver-black bicycle wheels, crates of Coca-Cola, an explosion of incandescent sweets, bubble gum with gold foil inside a pink, bubbled wrapper and sweet gobstoppers all of which make Alex forget her little charge long enough for the terrible thing to happen. Only when someone remarks on the absence of the toddler and a search commences is the heartbreaking discovery of the child lying face down in the muddy pond behind the farm and she says 'my whole happy world spins away from me.... I will never know peace again, I know. I will never be comfortable or happy again in my life. ' Is it any wonder Fuller's parents drink to excess, all joy gone, no longer caring how they live, their sadness and grief over Olivia's accidental drowning coming after the earlier catastrophic death of two other infants bornto them in earlier years. Fuller's mother goes into a deep depression from which she never recovers. From then on she always has a glass of brandy in her hand, desperately drinking non-stop, trying to eradicate the pain of loss. Running through the book is the deep enduring affection between the two sisters who look out for each other feeling thwarted by their parents refusal to acknowledge the turmoil raging about them. 'Don't exaggerate,' is their typical reaction when the children speak of falling bombs and the sight of dead, mutilated bodies or the sexual assault on them by their parents' drunken friend when left in his care and forcing them to run across the street to seek asylum in a neighbour's house. Apart from their sorrow there is one thing binding the family together and that is their deep, abiding love for the land they live in, whatever name it is called by, Rhodesia or Zimbabwe, for no matter what this land continues to lie unblinking under the African sky and succeeds in drawing them back every time as they struggle to survive the trauma of those early years, and to live with the scars they have suffered.


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