Obituary: Goronwy (Gron) Edwards 1920 – 2016
Science Teacher, Founding Headmaster of St. James Mission School
Written by Jonathan Edwards
At the end of 1963 Gron and his wife Gwendoline (Gwen) along with their sons David aged 5 and Jonathan aged 3 were due to leave the UK bound for The Ivory Coast where Gron had been accepted for a job teaching at an Italian company school. Unfortunately, due to an administrative error this never happened and Gron, still wanting to take his family out to Africa to teach, was looking for another opportunity. He found an advert from the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel looking for someone to run the first secondary school for girls in Matabeleland to be built at Nyamandhlovu. He applied and was accepted for the role as Founding Headmaster with the understanding that there would be a very large task ahead to design and build this new school in the African bush.
January 1964 Gron, Gwen and the family flew out from the UK bound for Bulawayo where they would then travel out to Nyamandhlovu to start a new life, not just for themselves but for many, many young girls desperate to learn.
As soon as they arrived Gron and Gwen started to teach the first 30 plus girls in an existing building. Gron designed the school classrooms and laboratory; building work started within the first few months with the direction of Francis Boatwright, the priest in charge, and local men from the area.
Apart from the teaching there was time over the next couple of years for Gron to buy and then convert a VW Combi van into a camper, allowing him to take his family out into the bush and explore the area. This included trips to Victoria Falls.
December 1965 Gron was approached by the then Bishop of the area, Bishop Skelton, who warned him that the authorities were planning to arrest him for allowing the girls to listen to the radio broadcasts of the BBC. With the warning it was decided not to risk the family and to take what possessions they could and travel to Cape Town where Gwen’s sister Beryl lived with her husband and family.
This trip involved taking the camper to Bulawayo, selling everything they could to buy tickets for the sleeper steam train to Cape Town, which would take two days, to safely meet up with the rest of the family. Christmas 1965 was spent, as many people did, on the beach at Cape Town enjoying the sun, well apart from David who got a touch of food poisoning from eating peaches.
January 1966, after receiving moneys from a relative to pay for the return trip home, Gron and family boarded the postal steamer back to the UK, a long 3-week boat trip stopping off to deliver post on the way. They arrived at Southampton to enjoy the sight of freshly fallen snow, something the boys had not experienced before.
Gron and Gwen continued to teach and over the years continued to keep in contact with those at Nyamandhlovu. They learned that the good work that had been done had been recognised and the teaching and assessment methods would be adopted by the Board of Education.
Gron continued to explore opportunities to go abroad to teach and became quite well known for his Science training courses held around the world, including Guyana and Singapore. He also worked with the BBC on a number of educational based programmes. Gwen was asked to accompany him on all his trips but with a growing family decided that the priority for her was at home.
Along with a passion for teaching Gron also had passions for science and astronomy, he was directly involved with the Greenwich Observatory in London, had a deep interest in computing and taught himself several coding languages and had a life long love of cats.
Gron retired as the Chief Warden of the South London Science Centre, a teacher training centre. Gwen retired as Head of Geography at a Girls school in Bromley, South London. In his retirement he made himself busy with his computing interests and made great use of improving computer communications to stay in contact with many across the globe.
During his lifetime, my father had always gone out of his way to help others, no matter where in the world. He decided with his beliefs and the advice of his doctor that he did not want a normal funeral and no way wanted a memorial service. So he contacted Cambridge School of Anatomy and donated his body to medical science completing the relevant forms in 1989. He handed me an A4 brown envelope one day on which he had written “What to do with Dad’s body” a very odd thing for many but not for my Dad.
At the end of October 2016 my father died at the grand old age of 96. He is survived by Gwen 91, David 57 and Jonathan 55.
As I knew what his last wishes were I have made sure they have been followed and as the School of Anatomy said to me, “Your Father has joined our illustrious alumni and will continue to teach the surgeons of the future.”
I wanted to do something different to remember him, with his love of astronomy and cats I decided to name a star after him in the Lynx constellation, so what was star 1416909 in the Lynx constellation is now called “Goronwy Edwards – 29th October 2016”, its astronomically verified position is: Right ascension 6h 57m 40.33s Declination 46° 31’ 33.7” Magnitude 11.81.
A teacher in life and now for ever.
At the end of 1963 Gron and his wife Gwendoline (Gwen) along with their sons David aged 5 and Jonathan aged 3 were due to leave the UK bound for The Ivory Coast where Gron had been accepted for a job teaching at an Italian company school. Unfortunately, due to an administrative error this never happened and Gron, still wanting to take his family out to Africa to teach, was looking for another opportunity. He found an advert from the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel looking for someone to run the first secondary school for girls in Matabeleland to be built at Nyamandhlovu. He applied and was accepted for the role as Founding Headmaster with the understanding that there would be a very large task ahead to design and build this new school in the African bush.
January 1964 Gron, Gwen and the family flew out from the UK bound for Bulawayo where they would then travel out to Nyamandhlovu to start a new life, not just for themselves but for many, many young girls desperate to learn.
As soon as they arrived Gron and Gwen started to teach the first 30 plus girls in an existing building. Gron designed the school classrooms and laboratory; building work started within the first few months with the direction of Francis Boatwright, the priest in charge, and local men from the area.
Apart from the teaching there was time over the next couple of years for Gron to buy and then convert a VW Combi van into a camper, allowing him to take his family out into the bush and explore the area. This included trips to Victoria Falls.
December 1965 Gron was approached by the then Bishop of the area, Bishop Skelton, who warned him that the authorities were planning to arrest him for allowing the girls to listen to the radio broadcasts of the BBC. With the warning it was decided not to risk the family and to take what possessions they could and travel to Cape Town where Gwen’s sister Beryl lived with her husband and family.
This trip involved taking the camper to Bulawayo, selling everything they could to buy tickets for the sleeper steam train to Cape Town, which would take two days, to safely meet up with the rest of the family. Christmas 1965 was spent, as many people did, on the beach at Cape Town enjoying the sun, well apart from David who got a touch of food poisoning from eating peaches.
January 1966, after receiving moneys from a relative to pay for the return trip home, Gron and family boarded the postal steamer back to the UK, a long 3-week boat trip stopping off to deliver post on the way. They arrived at Southampton to enjoy the sight of freshly fallen snow, something the boys had not experienced before.
Gron and Gwen continued to teach and over the years continued to keep in contact with those at Nyamandhlovu. They learned that the good work that had been done had been recognised and the teaching and assessment methods would be adopted by the Board of Education.
Gron continued to explore opportunities to go abroad to teach and became quite well known for his Science training courses held around the world, including Guyana and Singapore. He also worked with the BBC on a number of educational based programmes. Gwen was asked to accompany him on all his trips but with a growing family decided that the priority for her was at home.
Along with a passion for teaching Gron also had passions for science and astronomy, he was directly involved with the Greenwich Observatory in London, had a deep interest in computing and taught himself several coding languages and had a life long love of cats.
Gron retired as the Chief Warden of the South London Science Centre, a teacher training centre. Gwen retired as Head of Geography at a Girls school in Bromley, South London. In his retirement he made himself busy with his computing interests and made great use of improving computer communications to stay in contact with many across the globe.
During his lifetime, my father had always gone out of his way to help others, no matter where in the world. He decided with his beliefs and the advice of his doctor that he did not want a normal funeral and no way wanted a memorial service. So he contacted Cambridge School of Anatomy and donated his body to medical science completing the relevant forms in 1989. He handed me an A4 brown envelope one day on which he had written “What to do with Dad’s body” a very odd thing for many but not for my Dad.
At the end of October 2016 my father died at the grand old age of 96. He is survived by Gwen 91, David 57 and Jonathan 55.
As I knew what his last wishes were I have made sure they have been followed and as the School of Anatomy said to me, “Your Father has joined our illustrious alumni and will continue to teach the surgeons of the future.”
I wanted to do something different to remember him, with his love of astronomy and cats I decided to name a star after him in the Lynx constellation, so what was star 1416909 in the Lynx constellation is now called “Goronwy Edwards – 29th October 2016”, its astronomically verified position is: Right ascension 6h 57m 40.33s Declination 46° 31’ 33.7” Magnitude 11.81.
A teacher in life and now for ever.
Obituary: Eelin Beardall 1931 - 1999
Written by Peter Hodge.
As much as any institution is a reflection of its leader, the St James Mission I arrived at in 1993 was Eelin Beardall. She brought the teachers, including Anna and myself; she procured the resources that made St James one of the leading girls-only schools in Zimbabwe. Without the mission work that occurred mostly in the background, hundreds of local villagers would have been poorer, hungrier, less well clothed and less well educated.
None of this came easily. The mission typically ran out of cash weeks before the end of each term. Scrimping and saving, making use of what you have, persevering, establishing a vast network of supporters (locally and overseas), and calling in favours when needed: all this enabled the mission to run on the smell of an oily rag, indeed to expand its work, to thrive, as many of the alumni who passed through its gates did.
The self-sacrifice of one person facilitated much of this and provided the example for others to follow. Eelin was the one person universally admired and respected at St James, regardless of ethnicity or class, regardless of the gripes anyone carried in relation to their work at the mission. While frustrations with Eelin for something she may or may not have done were common, no one denied her importance to the mission and the broader community. It was because she was held in such high esteem that people felt her deficiencies so keenly.
I picture Eelin walking through the mission, as I would often see her. She is wearing one of her long skirts, a simple cotton top tucked into the skirt and practical, flat-soled shoes. Unflappable as ever, her weathered face is serene; she has a warm smile, a kind word or motherly advice for everyone she meets along the way. Where there is a crowd, they part before her. Petitioners hope for an opportunity to make their request, but there are always so many. Eelin has the patience of the Dalai Lama.
She was as capable and practical as you would expect from someone who lived in the African bush for near to four decades. I recall the day Eelin was vaccinating all the dogs at the mission, against rabies I assume. We were in front of the church. Missie, part terrier and allegedly part jackal, was jumping excitedly against my legs as usual, seeking attention. She was rarely far from me and so Eelin knew just where to find her. She instructed me to hold Missie firmly while she administered the injection. I made a hash of it. Missie, a clever dog, sensed something unpleasant was about to occur and was wriggling violently in my grip. Taking command of the situation, Eelin held her firmly with one hand against her body, administering the vaccine with the other. It was all over in a few seconds.
How well she had adapted to her African bush home. It wouldn’t have surprised me if Eelin knew how to repair the water pump or generator, should it prove necessary. Living such a vigorous life, to the end, she seemed eternal to me. St James without Mrs Beardall was inconceivable, and when the inconceivable happened it was like an earthquake that left a great tear in the earth or, perhaps, an enormous sinkhole; a feeling that our world can never be the same. It was like that giant skeleton of a tree towering over the nearby scrub, which I passed on my evening walks, had finally fallen.
Eelin Beardall – Umama Omuhle (Beautiful Mother)
Born 14/9/31, Died 28/6/99
They came in their multitudes from all over Matabeleland to attend the funeral of Helen Margaret Beardall (Eelin) at St James Mission. At rest in her simple coffin of Jewish Pine with rope handles, the mission workmen lowered her into a grave dug that morning as local tradition demands, beside her late husband Frank. The congregation filed past, pouring handfuls of dirt onto the coffin. All the while, five hundred school girls sang hymns in English and Ndebele. The men who dug the grave began to fill it in and other men and women joined them. A ring of stones was set to mark the borders of the grave. A headstone was placed and women decorated the grave with flowers.
Death is an omen of bad times, it was explained to me when I was a teacher at St James and Eelin was both Head of the mission and Headmistress of the secondary school. It’s a time that people need to be as one. The truth of these words reverberates now, given that Eelin was the last of her missionary generation at St James. It is time for someone else to pick up the baton of her work.
The sense of loss felt by the St James community is immense. Eelin was the: chief administrator, biology teacher, social worker, spiritual leader, chief source of aid in the local community, and sometimes vet. To some of the many expatriate teachers at the mission, Eelin was ‘Mum’.
Helen Wilson was born in Gorakhpur, India, 1931. She moved back to Britain with her mother before the onset of war and was educated in Edinburgh. In 1956 Eelin married Frank Beardall, her parish priest and her senior by twenty-three years. They moved to Kokstead, South Africa, in 1960 where Eelin taught while Frank continued his service to the Anglican church. A decade later, frustrated by the tentacles of the apartheid system that had come to permeate every aspect of South African society, they made their home at the newly formed St James Mission, Southern Rhodesia. At the time of his death in 1987 Frank was Head of the Mission and Eelin the Headmistress of the secondary school. Until her recent passing Eelin held the dual responsibility for the mission and the secondary school.
Eighty kilometres from the nearest big smoke, Bulawayo, St James is situated in the dense, dusty Matabeleland scrub – cattle ranching country. The mission was very much Eelin’s baby. Though the very notion would be abhorrent to her, Eelin was a giant, nay a god to many in the Nyamandhlovu and Tsholotsho districts and beyond.
The secondary school is the prominent public face of St James, particularly in Bulawayo where a majority of the students live. Thousands of African students who learned at St James have developed skills enabling them to better cope in a white-dominated world. Many graduates of St James have progressed to tertiary studies, leading to the sorts of incomes that allow families to move out of the townships.
St James also has a primary school that services the local community. For all but the best of these children, who are often given full scholarships to learn at the secondary school, St James provides the only education they will receive. There is the clinic which also serves the local community. The church meets the spiritual needs of Anglicans in the community. The mission helps to clothe and feed many in the nearby villages who are poverty stricken, in part by the lack of work and frequently occurring droughts. ‘Food for work’ programs take place regularly and locals are free to use the mission’s grinding machine to make their maize-meal. For thirty years Eelin was at the centre of all this.
Shortly after my arrival at St James I asked Eelin if it was necessary to wear a collar and tie to work, as is the case in most Zimbabwean schools. “Good Lord, no!” she said, “that’s hardly practical here”. And that was her to a tee. She was disdainful of superficiality, as one must be to nurture a family with more than six hundred members on the edge of a desert.
Eelin worked tirelessly for the mission, rarely taking holidays. Even when she visited Australia several years ago, Eelin was busy making contacts with various AIDS organisations to facilitate the delivery of medicines for the many HIV positive locals she cared for. Getting to see her was never an easy task, such were the queues of petitioners, hoping to secure a place at St James for their daughter or relief from paying the term fees, or any number of things. No matter was too trivial for Eelin. Unlike many whites in Zimbabwe, she didn’t talk down to Africans. Eelin had a good command of the Ndebele language and treated every issue seriously, with compassion, whether she was able to help or not. Many of those Eelin cared about most were the Africans (and their families) she worked closely with in school and at home.
It would often be late, just before the mission generator was switched off for the night, that I would finally get to see Eelin. Her eyes usually betrayed just how exhausted she was, yet she was always happy to talk. A great conversationalist, Eelin had that rare ability to be a sincere listener, yet hold an audience spellbound once she was regaling them with any of her amazing tales. Eelin was particularly charming. Many was the time I and others would march to her house, having built up a head of steam over the latest crisis, only to be disarmed by her bemused expression, totally relaxed posture and distracting small talk. We’d all leave feeling much better about things, then turn around and think: ‘Hang on ... what just happened there?’ Eelin may have sidestepped the issue at hand. But, relative to what she dealt with on a daily basis, many could be classified ‘storm in a teacup’. At other times there simply were no good answers.
It was often long after dark or in the early hours of the morning when Eelin would find solace, walking her dogs or horse around the mission with no one to bother her. Passing the dormitories, she’d tap on a window if she could hear the girls talking; they would stay quiet until dawn, such was their respect for ‘Mother’ Beardall.
Walking past Eelin’s house one day, I was surprised to hear an ABBA tune spinning off her ancient record player. It seemed incongruous with her keen intellect. Such is the rich tapestry that was Eelin.
While I was still clearing the sleep from my eyes, it was a familiar sight to see Eelin’s utility tearing off towards Bulawayo, a cloud of Kalahari dust billowing behind it. Very often, she would be off to do battle with some ministry figure from Education or Immigration, all to ensure St James had the best quality teaching staff that could be managed. For the same purpose, Eelin would make the 800 km round trip to Harare, alone, returning long after dark.
Eelin was an immensely strong woman, slow to anger. That so little shocked her had much to do with her wealth of experience and worldliness. She was nothing if not an optimist, the very epitome of the ‘Keep Calm and Carry on’ motto.
In the mid-1980s Matabeleland was the focal point of Zimbabwe’s civil war. Many white farmers were killed, soldiers were killed by ‘dissidents’ and villagers slaughtered by the notorious, North Korean trained Fifth Brigade. St James survived that period with little interference, not I believe because the mission was tending the ‘munt’ dissidents (as one racist local put it to me), but because of the integrity of people like Eelin and her husband, Frank.
Eelin was fearless. With her in Hwange National Park we were camping in one of the out stations. Eelin was eager to accept the invitation of the sole attendant to, against park rules, take us out to the nearby pan after dark where we’d see hyenas feeding on the carcass of an elephant. We weren’t expecting there would be another elephant there, protecting the corpse, and strongly objecting to our presence. Off the road and wedged in the blackness between a ditch and the pan, we survived a mock charge in which our enormous, angry friend sprayed the windscreen with water from his trunk before backing off. My heart was thumping. Eelin didn’t bat an eyelid. In fact, she was eager to continue studying the hyenas from different points around the pan. On that trip to Namibia and Botswana, she was easily the most adventurous of our group of four, her impish sense of humour goading us to each new experience. Her love of nature was boundless. At the Cape Cross seal colony Eelin could have sat there all day, long after the stench, heat and loss of curiosity had driven the rest of us away.
It wasn’t that Eelin was a flawless human being. Her tremendous faith in people was sometimes misplaced. This was evident by her placing people who were either ill-equipped to do the job or sometimes corrupt in positions of responsibility. On the other hand, Eelin frequently took too much upon herself and wasn’t readily willing to delegate significant power to those below her. She was a benevolent dictator and yet she always hoped, I think, someone would be there to support her, take her place eventually. But it had to be the right person ...
Eelin’s flaws draw attention to her even greater virtues: a selfless dedication to her life’s work, and that of Frank, depthless compassion, fortitude and, an uncompromising determination to carry on.
Personally, Eelin’s passing is a jarring reminder of the tenuous nature of life; she had seemed eternal to me. Importantly, it has sharply crystallised in my mind the wealth of positive influences she had on my life and thousands like me, from all walks of life. In this age where true heroes are few and far between, I feel privileged to have known her.
Now that our inspiration is no longer walking among us, it is easy for us to doubt that the work of St James can carry on as it did before. But carry on it must and look, there’s Eelin here and over there, in every corner of St James, in every birdsong – even the squarkings of those wretched peacocks. She’s there in the hearts, minds and good deeds of people quite literally all over the world. Eelin was tired, she had to go. Now it’s up to us to carry on – our path is lit.
Reflecting on Eelin in more recent times, my respect for her has only grown. It is very much a human trait, with the passing of time, to sanctify departed heroes, transform them into icons they themselves would not recognise. Media organisations prepare and maintain obituaries of many prominent people ahead of their passing, so they can publish without delay. I imagine Eelin reading my obituary of her with her usual bemused expression, appreciative of the kind gestures, yet sceptical of the tone and narrative; Eelin wouldn’t see herself in the manner I have described. Truly great people usually don’t; they are too busy to bother looking in the mirror, to see themselves as other people see them. Even so, I think Eelin knew she was important to the St James community and that her work made a difference to a tremendous number of people; it was why she continued on as long as she did. Decades later, I feel she stands head and shoulders above anyone else I have known, in terms of her contribution and impact on the lives of others.
Type the name Helen Beardall into Google: the search results are underwhelming. Indeed, even in the skimpy St James site, I couldn’t find a reference to her. Incredible. There is a paragraph on Francis Boatwright, who founded the mission and was succeeded by Frank and Eelin. But, make no mistake, Eelin was a giant in her time and in her African home. She has remained a gigantic presence in my life.
I have an old black and white photo of Eelin; it’s her graduation portrait. She must be around 22 or 23 years old, a flawless complexion, raven haired I’d like to write although, admittedly, it’s difficult to tell. Eelin is wearing an academic gown and hood and is holding her rolled degree loosely in both hands; she is a striking woman who must have had her share of admirers. Is it a Bachelor of Science, majoring in Biology or Zoology? Was she one of few female graduates in her school, or were the barriers already breaking down? Her expression is thoughtful and she is staring into the middle distance, to the right of the lens. Just a pose dictated to her by the photographer? Or, is Eelin thinking about what is next to come? Although St James and possibly even Africa may not have been on her radar yet, she was already a global citizen having lived her childhood years in India. I imagine Eelin at that age: confident, brave, a strong moral compass, thirsty to experience more of the world, disinclined to conform to the modes of behaviour expected of young women in the post-war years. Had she met Frank yet? Are the coordinates of her path ahead already being plotted? Possibly, although I doubt even Eelin could have conceived the good work she would accomplish over the next four decades.
As much as any institution is a reflection of its leader, the St James Mission I arrived at in 1993 was Eelin Beardall. She brought the teachers, including Anna and myself; she procured the resources that made St James one of the leading girls-only schools in Zimbabwe. Without the mission work that occurred mostly in the background, hundreds of local villagers would have been poorer, hungrier, less well clothed and less well educated.
None of this came easily. The mission typically ran out of cash weeks before the end of each term. Scrimping and saving, making use of what you have, persevering, establishing a vast network of supporters (locally and overseas), and calling in favours when needed: all this enabled the mission to run on the smell of an oily rag, indeed to expand its work, to thrive, as many of the alumni who passed through its gates did.
The self-sacrifice of one person facilitated much of this and provided the example for others to follow. Eelin was the one person universally admired and respected at St James, regardless of ethnicity or class, regardless of the gripes anyone carried in relation to their work at the mission. While frustrations with Eelin for something she may or may not have done were common, no one denied her importance to the mission and the broader community. It was because she was held in such high esteem that people felt her deficiencies so keenly.
I picture Eelin walking through the mission, as I would often see her. She is wearing one of her long skirts, a simple cotton top tucked into the skirt and practical, flat-soled shoes. Unflappable as ever, her weathered face is serene; she has a warm smile, a kind word or motherly advice for everyone she meets along the way. Where there is a crowd, they part before her. Petitioners hope for an opportunity to make their request, but there are always so many. Eelin has the patience of the Dalai Lama.
She was as capable and practical as you would expect from someone who lived in the African bush for near to four decades. I recall the day Eelin was vaccinating all the dogs at the mission, against rabies I assume. We were in front of the church. Missie, part terrier and allegedly part jackal, was jumping excitedly against my legs as usual, seeking attention. She was rarely far from me and so Eelin knew just where to find her. She instructed me to hold Missie firmly while she administered the injection. I made a hash of it. Missie, a clever dog, sensed something unpleasant was about to occur and was wriggling violently in my grip. Taking command of the situation, Eelin held her firmly with one hand against her body, administering the vaccine with the other. It was all over in a few seconds.
How well she had adapted to her African bush home. It wouldn’t have surprised me if Eelin knew how to repair the water pump or generator, should it prove necessary. Living such a vigorous life, to the end, she seemed eternal to me. St James without Mrs Beardall was inconceivable, and when the inconceivable happened it was like an earthquake that left a great tear in the earth or, perhaps, an enormous sinkhole; a feeling that our world can never be the same. It was like that giant skeleton of a tree towering over the nearby scrub, which I passed on my evening walks, had finally fallen.
Eelin Beardall – Umama Omuhle (Beautiful Mother)
Born 14/9/31, Died 28/6/99
They came in their multitudes from all over Matabeleland to attend the funeral of Helen Margaret Beardall (Eelin) at St James Mission. At rest in her simple coffin of Jewish Pine with rope handles, the mission workmen lowered her into a grave dug that morning as local tradition demands, beside her late husband Frank. The congregation filed past, pouring handfuls of dirt onto the coffin. All the while, five hundred school girls sang hymns in English and Ndebele. The men who dug the grave began to fill it in and other men and women joined them. A ring of stones was set to mark the borders of the grave. A headstone was placed and women decorated the grave with flowers.
Death is an omen of bad times, it was explained to me when I was a teacher at St James and Eelin was both Head of the mission and Headmistress of the secondary school. It’s a time that people need to be as one. The truth of these words reverberates now, given that Eelin was the last of her missionary generation at St James. It is time for someone else to pick up the baton of her work.
The sense of loss felt by the St James community is immense. Eelin was the: chief administrator, biology teacher, social worker, spiritual leader, chief source of aid in the local community, and sometimes vet. To some of the many expatriate teachers at the mission, Eelin was ‘Mum’.
Helen Wilson was born in Gorakhpur, India, 1931. She moved back to Britain with her mother before the onset of war and was educated in Edinburgh. In 1956 Eelin married Frank Beardall, her parish priest and her senior by twenty-three years. They moved to Kokstead, South Africa, in 1960 where Eelin taught while Frank continued his service to the Anglican church. A decade later, frustrated by the tentacles of the apartheid system that had come to permeate every aspect of South African society, they made their home at the newly formed St James Mission, Southern Rhodesia. At the time of his death in 1987 Frank was Head of the Mission and Eelin the Headmistress of the secondary school. Until her recent passing Eelin held the dual responsibility for the mission and the secondary school.
Eighty kilometres from the nearest big smoke, Bulawayo, St James is situated in the dense, dusty Matabeleland scrub – cattle ranching country. The mission was very much Eelin’s baby. Though the very notion would be abhorrent to her, Eelin was a giant, nay a god to many in the Nyamandhlovu and Tsholotsho districts and beyond.
The secondary school is the prominent public face of St James, particularly in Bulawayo where a majority of the students live. Thousands of African students who learned at St James have developed skills enabling them to better cope in a white-dominated world. Many graduates of St James have progressed to tertiary studies, leading to the sorts of incomes that allow families to move out of the townships.
St James also has a primary school that services the local community. For all but the best of these children, who are often given full scholarships to learn at the secondary school, St James provides the only education they will receive. There is the clinic which also serves the local community. The church meets the spiritual needs of Anglicans in the community. The mission helps to clothe and feed many in the nearby villages who are poverty stricken, in part by the lack of work and frequently occurring droughts. ‘Food for work’ programs take place regularly and locals are free to use the mission’s grinding machine to make their maize-meal. For thirty years Eelin was at the centre of all this.
Shortly after my arrival at St James I asked Eelin if it was necessary to wear a collar and tie to work, as is the case in most Zimbabwean schools. “Good Lord, no!” she said, “that’s hardly practical here”. And that was her to a tee. She was disdainful of superficiality, as one must be to nurture a family with more than six hundred members on the edge of a desert.
Eelin worked tirelessly for the mission, rarely taking holidays. Even when she visited Australia several years ago, Eelin was busy making contacts with various AIDS organisations to facilitate the delivery of medicines for the many HIV positive locals she cared for. Getting to see her was never an easy task, such were the queues of petitioners, hoping to secure a place at St James for their daughter or relief from paying the term fees, or any number of things. No matter was too trivial for Eelin. Unlike many whites in Zimbabwe, she didn’t talk down to Africans. Eelin had a good command of the Ndebele language and treated every issue seriously, with compassion, whether she was able to help or not. Many of those Eelin cared about most were the Africans (and their families) she worked closely with in school and at home.
It would often be late, just before the mission generator was switched off for the night, that I would finally get to see Eelin. Her eyes usually betrayed just how exhausted she was, yet she was always happy to talk. A great conversationalist, Eelin had that rare ability to be a sincere listener, yet hold an audience spellbound once she was regaling them with any of her amazing tales. Eelin was particularly charming. Many was the time I and others would march to her house, having built up a head of steam over the latest crisis, only to be disarmed by her bemused expression, totally relaxed posture and distracting small talk. We’d all leave feeling much better about things, then turn around and think: ‘Hang on ... what just happened there?’ Eelin may have sidestepped the issue at hand. But, relative to what she dealt with on a daily basis, many could be classified ‘storm in a teacup’. At other times there simply were no good answers.
It was often long after dark or in the early hours of the morning when Eelin would find solace, walking her dogs or horse around the mission with no one to bother her. Passing the dormitories, she’d tap on a window if she could hear the girls talking; they would stay quiet until dawn, such was their respect for ‘Mother’ Beardall.
Walking past Eelin’s house one day, I was surprised to hear an ABBA tune spinning off her ancient record player. It seemed incongruous with her keen intellect. Such is the rich tapestry that was Eelin.
While I was still clearing the sleep from my eyes, it was a familiar sight to see Eelin’s utility tearing off towards Bulawayo, a cloud of Kalahari dust billowing behind it. Very often, she would be off to do battle with some ministry figure from Education or Immigration, all to ensure St James had the best quality teaching staff that could be managed. For the same purpose, Eelin would make the 800 km round trip to Harare, alone, returning long after dark.
Eelin was an immensely strong woman, slow to anger. That so little shocked her had much to do with her wealth of experience and worldliness. She was nothing if not an optimist, the very epitome of the ‘Keep Calm and Carry on’ motto.
In the mid-1980s Matabeleland was the focal point of Zimbabwe’s civil war. Many white farmers were killed, soldiers were killed by ‘dissidents’ and villagers slaughtered by the notorious, North Korean trained Fifth Brigade. St James survived that period with little interference, not I believe because the mission was tending the ‘munt’ dissidents (as one racist local put it to me), but because of the integrity of people like Eelin and her husband, Frank.
Eelin was fearless. With her in Hwange National Park we were camping in one of the out stations. Eelin was eager to accept the invitation of the sole attendant to, against park rules, take us out to the nearby pan after dark where we’d see hyenas feeding on the carcass of an elephant. We weren’t expecting there would be another elephant there, protecting the corpse, and strongly objecting to our presence. Off the road and wedged in the blackness between a ditch and the pan, we survived a mock charge in which our enormous, angry friend sprayed the windscreen with water from his trunk before backing off. My heart was thumping. Eelin didn’t bat an eyelid. In fact, she was eager to continue studying the hyenas from different points around the pan. On that trip to Namibia and Botswana, she was easily the most adventurous of our group of four, her impish sense of humour goading us to each new experience. Her love of nature was boundless. At the Cape Cross seal colony Eelin could have sat there all day, long after the stench, heat and loss of curiosity had driven the rest of us away.
It wasn’t that Eelin was a flawless human being. Her tremendous faith in people was sometimes misplaced. This was evident by her placing people who were either ill-equipped to do the job or sometimes corrupt in positions of responsibility. On the other hand, Eelin frequently took too much upon herself and wasn’t readily willing to delegate significant power to those below her. She was a benevolent dictator and yet she always hoped, I think, someone would be there to support her, take her place eventually. But it had to be the right person ...
Eelin’s flaws draw attention to her even greater virtues: a selfless dedication to her life’s work, and that of Frank, depthless compassion, fortitude and, an uncompromising determination to carry on.
Personally, Eelin’s passing is a jarring reminder of the tenuous nature of life; she had seemed eternal to me. Importantly, it has sharply crystallised in my mind the wealth of positive influences she had on my life and thousands like me, from all walks of life. In this age where true heroes are few and far between, I feel privileged to have known her.
Now that our inspiration is no longer walking among us, it is easy for us to doubt that the work of St James can carry on as it did before. But carry on it must and look, there’s Eelin here and over there, in every corner of St James, in every birdsong – even the squarkings of those wretched peacocks. She’s there in the hearts, minds and good deeds of people quite literally all over the world. Eelin was tired, she had to go. Now it’s up to us to carry on – our path is lit.
Reflecting on Eelin in more recent times, my respect for her has only grown. It is very much a human trait, with the passing of time, to sanctify departed heroes, transform them into icons they themselves would not recognise. Media organisations prepare and maintain obituaries of many prominent people ahead of their passing, so they can publish without delay. I imagine Eelin reading my obituary of her with her usual bemused expression, appreciative of the kind gestures, yet sceptical of the tone and narrative; Eelin wouldn’t see herself in the manner I have described. Truly great people usually don’t; they are too busy to bother looking in the mirror, to see themselves as other people see them. Even so, I think Eelin knew she was important to the St James community and that her work made a difference to a tremendous number of people; it was why she continued on as long as she did. Decades later, I feel she stands head and shoulders above anyone else I have known, in terms of her contribution and impact on the lives of others.
Type the name Helen Beardall into Google: the search results are underwhelming. Indeed, even in the skimpy St James site, I couldn’t find a reference to her. Incredible. There is a paragraph on Francis Boatwright, who founded the mission and was succeeded by Frank and Eelin. But, make no mistake, Eelin was a giant in her time and in her African home. She has remained a gigantic presence in my life.
I have an old black and white photo of Eelin; it’s her graduation portrait. She must be around 22 or 23 years old, a flawless complexion, raven haired I’d like to write although, admittedly, it’s difficult to tell. Eelin is wearing an academic gown and hood and is holding her rolled degree loosely in both hands; she is a striking woman who must have had her share of admirers. Is it a Bachelor of Science, majoring in Biology or Zoology? Was she one of few female graduates in her school, or were the barriers already breaking down? Her expression is thoughtful and she is staring into the middle distance, to the right of the lens. Just a pose dictated to her by the photographer? Or, is Eelin thinking about what is next to come? Although St James and possibly even Africa may not have been on her radar yet, she was already a global citizen having lived her childhood years in India. I imagine Eelin at that age: confident, brave, a strong moral compass, thirsty to experience more of the world, disinclined to conform to the modes of behaviour expected of young women in the post-war years. Had she met Frank yet? Are the coordinates of her path ahead already being plotted? Possibly, although I doubt even Eelin could have conceived the good work she would accomplish over the next four decades.