When I was 16 and received my call-up to serve in the South African Defence Force I didn't realise I was being asked to defend an ideology rather than a sovereign state. Because of censorship and the banning of opposition political movements during the 1960s I grew up largely unaware of the major ideological confrontation in the country. Going to the army was a daunting prospect, but it didn't have any political implications for me. I was called up in the last year of the ballot system. Some of my friends didn't have to go. I was one of the unlucky ones. If I hadn't been unlucky, I wouldn't have written Somewhere on the Border.

The first thing you learnt in the army was not to draw attention to yourself and not to volunteer for anything. I tried to keep my nose clean, but had little genuine respect for military rules and regulations. As a result, I was caught with cigarettes and matches while guarding the ammunition dump at Jan Kemp Dorp, put on orders and marched into a major's office. I was slightly blindsided when the major asked me if I didn't love my country. He then explained how my cigarette could have blown up Jan Kemp Dorp, which, in turn, would have blown up Kimberley, which would have then, I think, ignited an ammunition dump near Bloemfontein and the end result would have been a national conflagration. With people like me in the army, who needed the swart gevaar [black peril]? I was given ten extra drills as a punishment.

The next time I was placed on orders was when I was a first-year student at the University of Natal in Pietermaritzburg. By then I was gatvol [fed-up] with the army and hadn't realised that my citizen force unit, the Natal Field Artillery, would be calling me up for monthly parades at the Drill Hall. A part-time field cornet, determined to reverse the decadent trend of long hair sweeping across the world, put me on orders because my hair was longer than the bristles on a standard issue toothbrush and, once again, I was given extra duties.