My old Teacher from Sacs

Gareth,
thank you so much for your amazing voice message.
One of the things that is for me so important in your message, is the huge success that your boy has achieved at Reddam.
So good to have an inspiration from a teacher who cares and who knows, there may even be some transmitted inspiration from you in spite of what his mother has done and is doing.

You must be so proud of his academic achievement.
Hopefully you will have an opportunity to teach him some of the basic truths of life still.
I will continue to connect with you and visit Tammy to keep track of developments.
You are such an incredibly brave person and maybe Leo Benning and Tony your swimming coach, were right and it is that instinct that came through in the military and now while going through this endless ordeal.
I am sure that we can sit together soon and just communicate our feelings in words and sometimes in silence at what the world has given you to endure. You are an inspiration in persistance and inordinate patience.

I hope I am an inspiration to many of the kids that I have taught and continue to teach. I try to have faith even in those who have not responded or who are part of the Rhodes/Feesmustfall group of young, inexperienced, Old Boys who have yet to endure and suffer and live some experiences.
They have not. To you, all the best for a speedy outcome in your favour and as they say in Afrikaans - 'Hou die blink kant bo.' Look to the good and the positive however tough it may seem as there is a bright light at the end of the tunnel which is the continuation of your next phase in freedom.

Take care.

Much love.

Geoff

Military 3 = The Right Stuff

.Hi G....where and when did you get awarded your HC after smokeshell..

Well.. It was a huge surprize actuallly..
The parade was in central Square in Bloemfontein shortly after my clearing out 1981.

I will try to explain how it all happened back then....

After the Angolan carnage in June1980. It was about October 1980..a few months before the end of my two years national service.
We were at a training camp in Lohatla in the Northern Cape...when I was requested, by popular demand... to be company chef.. and admittedly by my own choice.. to escape more days of gruelling training.. to the disdain of my shattered section.. who had to continue training without me.

I am not an army chef but I could cook with passion and it was very rewarding for me. 
My moms basics helped I think?
The intensely hard work was a good distraction and therapy for my deeply traumatised condition after Smokeshell.

I was busy cooking supper for the company when the whole  company was ordered to form up.

Capt Louis Harmse..the company commander, stood in front of the rows of us young men.
He addressed us all for the first time, complimenting us on our recent achievements on OpSceptic and also for the fine formation and execution of our vehicle training manoevers that week.
Then .. out  of the blue.. he announced that  o/korporaal Rutherford had been awarded the Honoris Crux for actions under fire on ops Smokeshell/sceptic

I was as shocked.. as everyone else.Haa!!.. I looked left and right and smiled at my mates thinking there was some kind of joke because I was the new chef.

We all waited for the other names .. but none came.
I didnt move.. frozen in surprize..
I didnt know what to say or think.. or how to react.. happy.. shocked.. bewildered..?
Proud.?
I stepped forward and the captain  shook my hand and the boys all clapped..I was completely stunned..but grateful for this recognition.
But for what..?
For what exactly... I had no idea.?At that stage there was no citation that I knew of ..nor any further info spoken of.

I remember the whole company getting back into the vehicles to drive back to our tents about ten km away in the veld.
There were no rowdy pats on my back.. no cheers of pride or good morale.. only business as usual.

A couple of the boys came up to me and said well done or                "congratulations".. but it was a quiet response.. if also slightly cold..I was so confused but elated I suppose... as I loaded the food containers onto the trucks amid the chatter of my compatriots.
I chose to run back to camp so I could have time to think. 
It was after five pm and I set off alone and I literally flew.. 
I never felt my feet on the hard red earth and the kilos flashed by as my mind reeled. 

I ran and ran and ran... not knowing what to say.. what think..
I  shouted to the sky and my head was awhirl..and I got lost..
 I ran right past our camp.. lost in shock and sadness. I realized then, that this award was to do with those I had attended under fire as they lay dying in the sun and the bewildering realization that I had not been killed right next to them and why was I still alive.?

Lohatla is a huge tract of wide open plains and I really went far...alone on foot out there.. I was completely lost... until luckily as it was getting dark...
I found a small group of oumanne or campers having a braai at a small group of tents. 

They sat me down and I rested... had a beer and told them what had happened..and about the medal that I was due to recieve.

They didnt know me at all ..but they cheered in wonderment at first.. and then as they realised that what I had told them was true ...raised me on their rowdy shoulders and applauded me almost like their own hero.
For exactly what.? It would take me a long time to figure it through and therefore I couldnt tell them much more than a bit about the operation we had done in Angola in June...but they guessed that it was something I must have done right.

They didnt want to let me leave and were so kind and appraising.. and...so proud of me.. and they were not even my own company..they had never seen me..but they cheered.

I explained to them that I had a kitchen to run.. food to prepare for 220 and I was late.. and they obliged me with a lift back to my group 8km back down the road I had run.

I had run 18km without even thinking.. and was super fit and strong.. and inspired.. but still lost..and lost in my head. 
And that was only the beginning of many years of coming to grips with survivor guilt and Ptsd.

Lost in my head ..as the recent deaths of my closest compatriots was fresh in my mind and that blood smell still in my nose. 

It was all so surreal and bitterly confusing as our battle group carried on training here as usual without those lost compatriots.
Lost in my head.. I became a bit morose I think.. being rewarded as my closest pals lay dead.. and notably..those in my platoon ..my team mates who were next to me there under fire in action.. equally brave... were unseen heros.. unsung ?

So ..of course I felt awkward then..
But time has helped me see it all as I step back now.
As it happens...I think I did ok..

I was seen doing the right stuff by many on the battle zone...
And most notably.. by the highest ranking officer on the operation that day.
I kept my head.. under fire.. I never ran away.. I challenged the savage enemy alone, running through their base with only my rifle and my wits.

I ran to the aid of dead and dying comrades and performed medical procedures to the book.. I thank my trainer Dr James Gibson today for much of that.
He went to the same school with me and was four years my senior.

All the ops medical that I did there was right, and I'm most proud to mention that Peter Brent was stoically by my side and completely unfazed by the extent of the blood and gore we had to contend with. The others in my section were less able to deal with the sight of such carnage and were deployed bravely in circular defense of our position, fighting off the well concealed and deadly surrounding enemy forces. All this was under the most incredibly well coordinated instructions by the platoon commander 2lt Paul Louw and Cpl Gary Braithwaite.

Peter Brent appeared over my shoulder and started helping me to get the dying soldiers into more protected positions and more comfortable as best we could, because it took us both a few vital minutes to comprehend our situation and that we were the only medical hands available. 

Initially all of our shocked responses caused further delays and confusion and I was the only able bodied soldier who dared to initiate medical procedures because of the sheer bloody carnage that suddenly faced us. 

This was not "supposed" to have happened and was not in any training manuals.
 The burnt flesh..blood and shattered bone was real.
My medical training was good but still never prepared me for the extreme dismemberment of my closest friends.

Later others gradually overcame their initial shock at the sight of such carnage and started helping  as I got the situation more under control.... and I never forgot them or what they did.

It was a great relief to have some help and not to be all alone.. with the dead and dying..Peter Brent was there and that was a great relief for me. 
I tore open shredded uniforms and severed hanging strands of skin and flesh.
I cut off a leg below the knee and picked up a foot still inside a boot.

Michael, My running partner's foot.
I bandaged and tourniqued and vomited..
 I applied heart massage and kiss of life as my face was covered in chunks of gore coming out of my desperate and dying patients.. my close friends.

I inserted drips and injected morphine on the worst.. and ..I held their bloodless dying hands and boosted their morale.. and it  was seen by all those terrified by the sight of so much blood and gore.
And it was right that someone noticed..this was not my nomination.

So.. I never got shot.. Enemy sniper bullets hit the body of the vehicle above our heads as we worked.
I should have been dead many times over.. as the others sat safe behind the machines and tucked low behind cover..as I ran around outside tending wounded.

By luck or chance or a guardian angel.. I dont know how or why.. but I survived those days.

They gave me a medal for that I think.?
... whew.!!

A huge parade in bloemfontein..centre city..

They cut the bushelters out off the square and layed out red carpets everywhere ..19 of us were honoured that day..
My mom and dad were flown in by Defence hq.

Pik Botha . PW.. Magnus... and Constand Viljoen..my father spoke with them all and swelled with pride as Constand..chief of Army,  said that my citation was most exceptional.
I met all the big wigs.. it was so scary for this little lancejack  "onderkorporaaltjie."
It was a huge parade and I was really anxious..
I never smiled because I knew that the families of the dead and all my compatriots were watching..so naturally... I was pensive and sad and I felt then , so out of place... so undeserving.. a fraud.?

 Yes of course I was proud of the great honour and recognition..but it was completely shrouded in sadness and confusion...and sealed by trauma that few would really know.

I was reserved..in respect for those that died under my hands... and my myriad of inadequacies.?
Today I look back and read the stories of all the others.. their accounts of great valour and achievement.. and I am so proud to have been there with those others.
It was because of their actions.. It was because of their competent battle efforts.... That I lived that day.

 It was such a huge team effort and I would have been dead if not for those other ratel platoons.. their fearless gunners and tenacious teams on the ground.
My actions were not only combative hand to hand facing the enemy.. but included comprehensive medical procedures under fire ..and boosting of morale under the pall of death.

As it turns out today.. it is clear ..a good few of my comrades who endured the most terrifying enemy sharps, explosive events, ran away in terror and confusion from the immediate contact zone. Some coming to further grief.. but thats another story that has no place at this stage.

So.. I look back today .. differently..my citation is well substantiated..

I see now what others did so bravely.. so selflessly.. and what I did..
And it was all good...

Today I no longer cower in sadness and regret..and guilt... but I am proud  ... that I did well ...what I was trained to do... compliments to my trainers...and when the chips were down ...  
I was on top form.!. coherent and efficient..!

And someone saw me doing that. 

I also kept a daily journal of all those events which has formed part of the historic detail we are still piecing together today. 

So in 1981..I was awarded a medal for gallantry ..along with a group of very brave soldiers from all over the country..who were on other daring operations..and who, in some way or other..had saved lives at great risk to their own.

And I was one of them.

Im still here...

Thats what happened....

Ch (9) Rain on my Brain

19th January 2017
Ive been locked down in my tiny cell for more two weeks...
Today, at last...We were allowed to go  outside into the yard covered by steel grids.

There was no sun..
a storm was brewing..
the sky was an orange glow...
and I shivered in my thin plastic jacket as I walked down the cold long passage...

But i went on out, following the few others who appreciated the opportunity to take a breath of fresh air.
Air that has not been rebreathed or tainted so foul by these tightly closed cell blocks.
As i walked out over the dry powdery earth.. the sky opened.

This hot dry desert so long, so harsh.
The rain poured down in big heavy drops.
Bursting cool on my scalp..
was  so wow !!
I walked on out into the long bleak high walled yard as the damp smell of wet dust rose around me.
I tore off my jacket and the wrinkled old tee shirt and stood with my arms out sideways as the rain gushed over the startled bare skin of my shoulders and back.
My face to the sky.. and eyes closed .. drops plopping on my eyelids and face..
I prayed a thank you.. and the others must have thought me a bit crazy..
but I ignored that..
as they came out from the sheltered edges and copied me in my ritual of chilly gratitide and acceptance of the great gift.

I think it was for me..

Just to say.. stay..

Im here...

Keep Faith...

Summary of events

The Gareth Rutherford Case

Gareth Rutherford is a British Citizen, born in Cape Town and educated at South African College School.  He studied Civil Engineering and has worked in engineering consultancy and run a small contracting company.
Having been conscripted into the South African Army at the age of 20, he was awarded the Honorus Crux medal for bravery (South Africa’s highest military bravery award); as an infantry medic he had tended to wounded soldiers during a fierce battle, saving lives whilst under fire with no regard for his own safety.

Gareth later worked as a civilian “Ministry of Defence” contractor for a British company in Basra, serving the British Military based at the Basra airport military enclave in Iraq.  As such he fell under British military close protection and was obliged to follow UK Military safety procedures.  By 2008 he had held this post for five years.

In the early morning of the 18th of September 2008, Gareth was heading off on leave via a booking made through the RAF Movements Office.  He flew with a RAF C130 from Basra in Iraq to the Kuwait Military Airport where he arrived along with British Embassy staff who were also on leave; he travelled with them in the official embassy vehicle to Kuwait City.

Gareth then slept for a couple of hours at a hotel used by his company.  A company vehicle had been left for him at the hotel and he drove off to see his employers who were expecting him at the company office in Kuwait City. Gareth was carrying company cash with him.

Whilst on his way to the office, Gareth got a call from his Iraqi interpreter in Basra asking him to collect some equipment from a specific garage in Jahra; the collection was apparently a favour for their cement suppliers. At the garage two Kuwaiti citizens loaded wheelbarrows, spades, tools and a large tyre onto the pickup - one of a set of tyres that the men had in their car. As Gareth was refuelling the vehicle, the interpreter called again and spoke to Gareth for a few minutes to check the progress of the collection, he told Gareth to drop the equipment at a known tyre repair shop near the Holiday Inn in Kuwait City.        

Gareth headed off and was subsequently arrested by approximately ten waiting policemen as he approached the tyre shop. He had been nowhere near a border crossing or back to the international airport and was driving a vehicle that had been kept at the hotel in Kuwait. All of these facts could have been corroborated if investigated.

Gareth’s arresting officers and accusers alleged that he had driven across the border from Iraq with the spare tyre filled with drugs in the vehicle and was thus a “trafficker”, the most severe of the drug offences. They claimed that the company cash he was carrying was evidence of this. Kuwaiti citizens at a garage in Kuwait had loaded the tyre on to the vehicle; there were many witnesses to this, but it was never investigated.

The Criminal Investigation Police forced Gareth to sign a statement under extreme duress, having been threatened, manhandled and kept in isolation in the dark for four days.  The statement was written in Arabic and he was told that it was a translation of his statement of the events. It transpired that it was not a translation of his statement but rather a fabricated confession that he had brought the tyre filled with drugs over the border from Iraq. Gareth had not been given access to an independent interpreter or an English-speaking lawyer at this stage.  

A trial was held during which Gareth was not able to testify. There was no clear or correct translation provided during the proceedings.

The trial ran for a period of approximately six months, Gareth made only eight, very brief, appearances, the longest lasting for around ten minutes. Gareth was given an UK embassy appointed lawyer who consulted with Gareth for no more than 40 minutes throughout the entire case; the lawyer was not even present at all the court appearances.

An appeal was held two months after the initial verdict: a life sentence of 25 years. Gareth made an appearance lasting 7 minutes; his lawyer did not consult with him at all for the appeal appearance. There was no opportunity for testimony, no witnesses were called and no evidence was presented. The outcome was the same, a life sentence of 25 years in Kuwaiti prison.

Gareth has been in prison in Kuwait since 2008 following these two very questionable trials.

We wish to raise a voice of appeal to the Emir of Kuwait, the Kuwaiti Government, the UK Government and the UK Prime Minister.

This case needs to be properly investigated and Gareth must be released.