Inevitably, the visitor to the Killie Campbell library would
ask, or perhaps only wonder, what manner of person was Dr.
Killie Campbell – the mind, the imagination, the
personality, behind the gathering together of so many
precious works and records of man and of the people, they
found here. Their story would be lost but for the
Dr. Campbell's of the world.
“Dr. Killie” as she was affectionately and respectfully
known, resemble to my mind, Queen Victoria of Britain, the
same small erect stature, the aquiline profile, high serene
forehead and smooth brown hair centrally parted and tied
back in a knot.
Queenliness was in her bearing and with it a quality I can
only describe as eternally girlish, a forthrightness of
greeting, a kind steady gaze, a warm smile and overall a
dignity of character and bearing, tinged always with
humility, which verged on self doubt regarding her own
achievements.
Selflessness in all her dealings was the keynote of her
character. In giving to others and in her keen interest in
the work of others, Dr. Killie Campbell forgot herself.
Indeed she had a trick of diverting conversation away from
herself, (a subject which interested her not at all)... “Let
us talk about what you are doing, old darling...” (I quote).
The many who were gathered into the warm, enchanted circle
of her “court” will recall a sharp sense of loss, the two
words “old darling,” not effusively spoken, but as a sincere
expression of her interest, regard and warmth of heart.
‘Court’ was held daily in the small upstairs room (her
mother, former Lady Campbell’s private drawing room) at the
morning and afternoon tea breaks. Tea, very promptly at
eleven and four, on a silver tea service, was brought in by
a tall, aristocratic Zulu clad in dignified long suit of
white drill. His name, in my time was Mkonto (Spear).
Traditional with tea were the wafer thin brown bread and
butter, and the famous Ouma Smuts recipe jam tartlets.
Other than Library teas were held in the downstairs study on
the right of the hall, where I shall always recall a
profusion of pink roses reflected in the shining copper,
these colours too in the furnishings of the gracious room.
The house always glowed with magnificent flowers, most of
them taken from the garden, which, Dr. Killie loved and
tended. Indeed she seemed to need the garden even as a plant
needs moisture, and would wander there to replenish herself,
when weary.
In her dealings with people Dr. Killie would quickly divine
within a person the presence of an idea, however nebulous,
diffident, doubting. She used her golden touch in uncovering
the idea, and in presenting it back to its unsure owner, as
a glowing and attainable goal.
This quality was, in her, more than just a facet of her
nature. It was the direct result of her own experience, of
her first faltering steps into the realms of our country’s
history, where she roamed in her imagination, and served so
well. She would sometimes tell of how her first books,
collector’s pieces, were hidden from prying and
unsympathetic eyes, under the bed, in the bedroom, which was
ostensibly that of a young lady of fashion. Her mother, (and
her Indian maid Mary, devoted for a lifetime), were puzzled
and baffled not so much by the curious housing of the books,
but by the fact that the girl in the crème of the country’s
society should indulge such a peculiar hobby. The young
Killie, enchanted by her books, thus learned to live side by
side with self doubt, and in two worlds, presenting a social
facade and concealing her real treasure. Contrary to popular
belief she was never financially free to purchase books
regardless of cost. Her first books were purchased from
savings on her dress allowance. (Dress, for Killie, must be
tidy, clean, functional and covering – and then forgotten).
When the family made their annual visits to Britain, Killie
would delight in dodging the social round whenever possible,
to prowl in secondhand bookshops or follow up some clue to
the existence of old letters and records – buy and bring
back to the country where they belonged. She knew her books,
loved and read them studiously. She remembered what she read
and could offer a gold mine of reference writers, readers,
research workers, indeed to anyone who came to her for help.
Killie Campbell at
Muckleneuk
As direct result of her help, many books were nourished, and
with her boundless enthusiasm to light the path, many books
were born. These, today, have place in her library and pay
mute homage and tribute to her by their very existence. She
helped build dreams and we who dreamed, gave her our
devotion.
As a young woman Dr. Killie learned to divide her life into
two worlds, because her two worlds, by their innermost
nature, could not mix. She was deeply kind and she could not
endure, for others, the hurt inflicted on one another, by
lack of understanding, the lack which she had lived with in
girlhood. So she divided her world. The motley crew who came
to her among her books were upstairs. The social and
fashionable were downstairs. Many there were, tried and
proved characters, who belonged in both worlds.
To the upstairs world wandered an endless stream of seekers,
the erudite, the people with dreams, the talented; people
from all walks of life, all races, all religions, all
“colours”, and in the twenty or more years of my pilgrimage
I knew of not one who met with rebuff. She gave of herself
without stint, but always diffidently. For this reason, for
her lack of boast, some of the erudite and the articulate
doubted her knowledge of her books and perhaps envied her
possession of them, thinking of her as a woman with a whim
and a wealth to indulge it. Those who knew her, knew better.
For her dream she had suffered and her work was for the love
of her country.
Because the best of my work is so closely associated with
her, perhaps an account of our meeting and our work together
would not be out of place in this my personal picture of
Killie.
I first met her in the 1940’s, on her invitation. A mutual
acquaintance had seen my first attempts in tribal dress and
had suggested Miss Killie Campbell of Durban would be
interested. How mild a phrase for a suggestion which brought
new zest to two lives, more especially mine. Unknown to
myself I was a typical “upstairs person,” with nothing much
more than a burning idea (and a battered van which served as
both vehicle and living quarters).
On my way through Durban on a ‘shoe-string safari’ to find
tribal dress in Zululand, I called on Miss Campbell, full of
zeal and the peculiar pride of the dreamer who has no money!
This state of heart, Killie, bless her, understood from the
start. She never ever patronised. Conversation on that first
meeting was as it always was with her, on and on for hours –
and then night came. She kindly invited me to stay, but
rather than presume and because of my stuffy pride, I
requested gently, to be allowed to sleep in my caravan,
parked in her front driveway, under the mighty tree. When
she agreed I knew that she understood and from that moment
mutual trust was born. We worked together as friends sharing
a common interest. Never as artist and wealthy patron, a
situation she would have deplored. She purchased from me a
regular number of studies each month, selected by her from
my safari collections, and in this way I was assured of
travelling expenses on the journeys, which we planned with
so much shared delight. Faith was established wordlessly
between us and was the basis of a deeply rewarding
association.
I was eventually winkled out of my caravan by dear Dr.
Killie, when to sleep there and not in the house would have
been a breach of friendship, rather than a matter of pride!
Dr. Killie had a sense of fun and humour
in plenty. One of my dearest memories is of my calling there
straight from a Zululand safari, when my old van had played up
and rendered me grubby with grease and dust, on face as well as
khaki ‘uniform’ (bush shirt and slacks). I arrived exactly at
afternoon tea time, which was being observed in the
downstairs world, for two impeccably clad visitors. In a
flash of humour, which she knew I shared, Dr. Killie ushered
me in with a flourish as I was! Her two worlds met in
head-on collision. The guests were stunned! Killie’s humour
carried the day and that afternoon was one of my happiest
memories of her.
Dr. Killie ventured far and loved the bush and the tribal
peoples. When I commenced my study of tribal dress she
already had many interesting photographs, taken by herself,
of tribal type and dress. Our work commenced separately but
from the moment of meeting became a shared interest.
Always favourites of Killie were my drawings of mothers and
babies. A quality in her which few people ever discovered
was her love of babies. When I had one of my own, her
knowledge of infant care and her advice were a constant
source of surprise and pleasure to me, given as they were in
a manner of shy maidenliness, but nevertheless with
authority. She enjoyed what she referred to as my “caravan
baby,” and watched his growing up with interest, revealing
within the person with keen intellect, her true womanliness.
Her warmth of nature too was reflected in her love of dogs
and she never failed to greet the three that travelled with
us. Her dogs were always waifs from the SPCA, of vague
ancestry. She could have owned any of the status dog breeds,
but true to her nature she gave refuge to the lost and
homeless –always two of them, so they need not be lonely.
Towards the end of her life her last dog was ageing too and
his faltering footsteps kept devoted pace with hers. Only a
dog lover could know what it cost her in courage, to spare
him his ultimate suffering. She, as a human, who must live
out life’s span, was tried to the limit.
When she died, leaving so much treasure as gift to her
country which she loved so dearly, it would no doubt astound
us all to know how many hearts grieved in how many lands,
near and far.
She boasted not of her many friends, and each of us felt a
personal sense of ownership, because each occupied a special
niche in the mansions of her heart – where she herself
counted for so little. She lived, served, loved and was
loyal, in both her worlds.
Dr. Killie Campbell
I shall always remember her as I so often found her, at her
desk, sitting sharply upright on a backless bench, profile
bent to her work, features outlined by the light from the
window beyond, expression earnest, no crease disturbing the
serene forehead. Then the turn of the head, crinkling at the
corner of the eyes, in a welcome always gay and buoyant.
Spectacles would be pushed back on the forehead (and
frequently forgotten there, entailing a vain search until
she remembered or someone gravely explained their immediate
presence). And as she hurried to greet me, my heart would
lift.
Barbara Tyrrell
and
through 