CM Van Der Heever wrote a very emotional poem about a tragedy that played itself out on a mountain. There are many speculations about where this took place however, the old folks in the Van Reenen area remembers it well. Many still live here.
Some say the tragedy took place on Platberg or Rensburg’s Kop in the Harrismith area. Others recon it was Aasvogel Kop in Caledon. Folks in the Van Reenen area insists it was at Nelson’s Kop. Looking at the topography of Platberg, Rensburg’s and Aasvogel it is unlikely that the tragedy took place there. Nelson’s Kop is more likely the true version.
A local farmer and his son went hunting for dassies in the early morning hours. His son lost his footing and fell down the cliff breaking his leg. His wounds were terrible and he was losing a lot of blood. The father struggled to get him out. The riempies (a rope made out of cow hide back then) rope kept on breaking as the jaggered rocks cut through them like a sharp knife.
A doctor and priest was brought to the top. The boy was wedged in tightly and no amount of effort could save him. His pain was excruciating and as he was fading away he begged his father to shoot him. A terrible, terrible decision I hope no other parent ever have to make.
Waar ruwe rotse teen die hemel klim,
waar morerooi se eerste traanglans glim,
waar aasvoëls hoog in sirkelbane sweef,
hul rou gekras in afgronde laat leef;
waar grou-wit kranse na die klowe val,
gekeep-hou tot spelonke bo ‘n dal;
waar oopgeskeurde klippekake wag
met draketande wat daar grynsend lag –
daar knal opeens geweerskoot bo die kruin
en eggo’s antwoord hard met skelbasuin.
Die dassies wip verskrik oor gladde krans,
patryse saai vlerktrillend uit hul skans.
Skuins glip ‘n voet en drillend val ‘n roer…
‘n skerp geskuur – ‘n pad wat afwaarts voer.
Twee hande gryp ‘n bos, die angs oorstelp,
benoud klink uit die diepte: “Here, help!”
Twee vader-oë kyk verward…sy seun,
die afgrond lag oor wilde skuurgedreun.
Die kruit en stof vlek oor die lug se blou,
die vader bly sy hand oor sy oë hou.
En dan gewaar hy in die skemering
sy kind, deur rotseskouers vasgedring.
‘n Riem rol na die seun daaronder neer,
“Bind vas, my kind…en Pa die sal probeer.”
Maar dis vergeefs…die kransedraak hou vas,
die riem bly stukkend breek, kry las op las.
En hulp snel by…die rotsetande gryns,
hier moet die mensverstand terug voor deins.
Dan klaag daar uit die diepte, sag en flou:
“Ek smeek dat Pa my skiet…en nou…”
‘n Roer die bewe in die growwe hand,
sag sif in skemerafgrond korrels sand.
Vas lê die kolf teen vaderskouer aan,
en langs die sneller glans ‘n afloop-traan.
“Vergeef my, God!”…’n skoot gedemp en dof…
en bo die bergegraf styg kruit en stof.
Nog skuur iets rog’lend in die diepte daar,
dis stil…die aasvoëls kras…’n vader staar.
