Buxton Gray on writing 'Fury's War'

As a child my grandfather, who served in the Second World War, had shells and other fascinating war memorabilia on the mantel piece. My granny, whose maiden name was Fourie, frequently spoke about “that skelm Jopie Fourie” who took part in the Marist rebellion and was executed for treason. These seeds subconsciously took root and sparked an interest in the Anglo-Boer War.

I started writing Fury’s War as a hobby but quickly became immersed in the tragedy and injustice of the war in which close to 52 000 South Africans, both black and white, died in British concentration camps, the majority of them the elderly and young children.

During the 12 years that it took to research and write the book I travelled the country meeting leading authorities on the war. The locals in small towns welcomed me and shared their knowledge of historic sites and the towns’ Boer history. In Fouriesburg, I asked an Afrikaans restaurateur for directions to the nearby whispering caves in Meiringskloof, where the Boer women and children hid to avoid capture. It was clear that he had little patience with me speaking English. When my friend explained in Afrikaans what I was doing, he instantly softened and gave up his afternoon to drive us over rough terrain to visit the caves. It reminded me of the resentment that I had noticed as a child between the English and Afrikaans. I visited concentration camps and other Boer War historic sites, many of which were hard to find, and was appalled at their dereliction. It is a great injustice that the memory of the courage and fortitude of a few, against the aggression of many, has largely been lost.

I was moved with compassion upon seeing photographs of children who had been placed on half rations as punishment for having a family member fighting against the British. They were skin and bones, starving, and allowed to die. What evil is it that causes the heart of an ordinary person to surrender to such cruelty and hate during a time of war?

I spent a lot of time writing in the bush, which helped me find the quiet space needed for my creative synapses to fire. On one occasion, while writing under a tree, I heard a loud plop behind me. A few metres away a boomslang was next to a chameleon that it had bitten in the tree and then dropped down beside it. It landing so close gave me the shivers and ended my writing for the day.

Overall, the writing of the book was rewarding and fun but writing certain scenes left me emotionally drained and unable to write for extended periods. It was in many ways a pouring out of life’s lessons and experiences. In order to write I had to mentally transport myself into the scene and interact with the characters as real people, imagine them and get into their psyche. When I see the end product, I find it hard to believe that I wrote it.