This is an episode packed with odd resonances, echoes, large whiskers, many presidents and the origin of a modern bank.

Now that the diamond fields were being exploited, this being1870, a plethora of politicians lined up to claim ownership — the ever-ambitious and unrealistic President Pretorius of the Transvaal among these, who as you heard last episode, had been chased away by the diggers. These were an international lot, not prone to being intimidated by old bearded men from the Transvaal.

His attempt at unilaterally granting drights to the diamond fields to messers Webb, Posno and Munnich had gone done like a lead balloon. As you heard, too, Nicholas Waterboer also claimed these fields, so too the Free State government under President Steyn. Waterboer was persuaded by his Cape educated lawyer the vigorous pen-and-ink warfare expert David Arnot, to ask the British Government to honour his claim on behalf of the Griqua. Waterboer didn’t need much convincing.

Author and Journalist Frederick Boyle who wrote “To the Cape For Diamonds” published in 1873 respected Arnot, meeting him in 1871 and describing him as very short, very thick, with a large face clean shaven and a dark skin burnt darker by South African suns.

“Mr David Arnot is one of those gentlemen who, in a larger or smaller sphere, make history…”

He’d conducted Waterboer’s business for 17 years, and as Boyle said, had made

“..not one mistake..”

Which is a miracle considering the forces at work in the transOrangia. A diplomats diplomat they said. Tenacious, unfailing, undaunted. He was President Pretorius and President Brands nemesis in some ways, a highly educated coloured man who was connected to the levers of power. He was also relatively wealthy, working as an attorney in Colesberg earning 2000 pounds a year. A man of his time, like other educated men and women of the Victorian era, he collected plants and wrote letters to famous scientists in his spare time.
Devout imperialist and friend, Richard Southey agreed. But the incoming high Commissioner, Sir Henry Barkly, needed to be pursuaded.

He’d just arrived, sporting enormous black whiskers, a large commanding figure, an authoritarian, gruff, former member of the English parliament, he didn’t want to be dragged into some territorial dispute so early in his governorship. He’d replaced Sir Philip Wodehouse as High Commissioner — Wodehouse congratulated himself when he left in May 1870 claiming not a shot had been fired by a British soldier during his stint — which was a stunning turnaround from the preceding 70 years, particularly the turbulent 1840s.

In the interregnum between the discovery of diamonds and annexation of the diamondiferous land by Great Britain, a short-lived but highly entertaining Free Diamond Republic sprang into being.

Self-appointed, proudly chaotic, and run by the diggers for the diggers. The Diggers Republic had all the trappings — including a flag which a ccording to historical accounts, featured the Union Jack in the top corner, similar to other colonial flags of the era. And its President? Stafford Parker was his name, and he was to rule over the territory for the grand total of twelve months. One reporter from London said that he “behaved modestly and does honour to his position … the order of the day — is solid civility —- listen to, but say nothing, and dig away….”

Golden rule amongst treasure hunters. Stay shtum as you grind away.
President Stafford Parker—ever the showman with a wink and a waistcoat—launched his corrugated iron canteen at Klipdrift on the banks of the Vaal with all the flair of a Mar-a-Lago meets muddy boots affair. Not content with presiding over a ragtag republic of diggers and dreamers, Parker decided he’d double as chief entertainer and purveyor of refreshments, slinging drinks and good cheer beneath a roof of rippling iron. Why not? If you're going to rule, you might as well pour the pints too.