Like all enduring legends, Arthur Newton’s grew in the telling. Many Comrades runners will pass by Arthur’s Seat and bid him good morning. For it is said his ghost takes up a position in a small obscure enclave on the side of the road on Comrades Day. There he smokes his pipe and watches and accepts greetings from all who pass.

And if you do not greet, or at least doff your running cap, so the folktale warns, woe betide. Your race from that point on will be cursed.

But the tale of this strange man is a strange one indeed. In truth his ghost returns often to that place to ruminate over unfinished business. It is the haunted searching for unanswered justice. During the early years of the last century, Arthur Newton lost his farm and his livelihood to bureaucratic laws. No one cared nor would they listen. On Comrades Day his spirit ponders the injustice of it all, and smokes his pipe. Better you greet Arthur, for his is an uneasy presence watching you pass by.

On the 20th of May 1956 a frail almost blind Arthur Newton was the guest of honour at a small Civic ceremony in the town of Harding. It was his 73rd birthday and he had been asked to plant a tree in the town gardens. When he died just over three years later, a commemorative stone was placed next to the tree. It carried the following inscription – “This tree was planted by Mr Arthur F.H. Newton – (Mntabeni). He was a resident farmer of the district from 1910 to 1925”. Mntabeni was the name local Zulus had given to Newton. It translates roughly as ‘the one from the mountain’.

Newton was born in England on 20 May 1883 in Weston-super-Mare. His clergyman father decided he needed a taste of the empire. So at the tender age of 19, he sent his son to South Africa to join his two elder brothers in Durban. This was in January 1902. After some restless trial and error, young Arthur found a job as a tutor at Hilton College and later at a farm school near Harding.

This was a frustrating time for Arthur, but after nine years of indecision the impetuous young man took an extraordinary and arguably reckless gamble. He decided to become a farmer. Reckless, because he had no farming experience and lived on his own. His aim, he later wrote in his 1940 memoir was to ‘settle down for good and all. I took up 1350 acres of Crown Lands from the Union Government in 1911, and set to work to learn something entirely new to me.’

The purchase in Ihluku, near Harding in Natal, put him deeply in debt. Certainly the farm work was back breaking. Still, he found time for playing the piano and reading deeply in philosophy. He particularly enjoyed Beethoven’s sonatas. This we know from his neighbour and close friend Bill Payn, who fought alongside him in the First World War.

During Arthur Newton’s final valedictory tour of South Africa in May 1956, Payn gave a speech to an assembled congregation of old military comrades. ‘I met Author Newton in 1910 when he was teaching in the Harding district. At our first meeting I realised that he was a man of my own peculiar wavelength, for not only was he an average reader of books, a useful musician and a philosopher, but he was also a cross country runner that was possessed of a crisp and brittle sense of humour.’

Bill Payn continued, providing rare insight into their friendship, ‘I used to pack a rucksack, put it on my shoulders and walked from our farm Burnside.  I would slog out the 25 miles that lay between us. And how well worth was the effort. For at the end of the track there was always Arthur Newton with his kindness and hospitality and philosophical talk.’

Payn was the only person outside Newton’s immediate family to be allowed to use his nickname, Tom.

During September 1914 Newton was obliged to put his farm work on indefinite hold. ‘Germany saw fit to interrupt my designs,’ was how he described the outbreak of the First World War. His decision to sign up was immediate, and for its duration he served in the Natal Light Horse as a dispatch rider.

Following the armistice, he returned to Ihluku. Lamentably he found it in an advanced state of neglect, and there was still worse to come. During his absence most of the surrounding areas had been rezoned. His farm had been reduced to a small island surrounded by demarcated tribal land.

Newton was devastated, but he intuitively understood the politics of the region, no one was coming to his rescue. He was British and English-speaking and sentiment was not on his side.

Undaunted, he sought redress from those in government who had caused his predicament. 

Unintentionally the proud former soldier found himself down on his luck on his farm near Harding. But he fervently believed he had a legitimate grievance. All he needed was some way to raise his own profile and bring his plight to the attention of the unsympathetic authorities.  

Newton made a fateful and extraordinary decision. He would seek fame and fortune through running. Much later he wrote that he only made up his mind after careful and protracted deliberation. He was too old he knew, for distances that require speed or explosive strength. He thought the longer the race the better. He decided to train for a particular event, a 54-mile road race from Durban to Maritzburg that had been run for the first time in May 1921.

The fledgling race was known as the Comrades Marathon, the brainchild of a Durban train driver by the name of Vic Clapton.

The event was tailor made for Newton’s need and his sensibilities. It was amateur, it was British, it was charitable, and it was going to be well publicised. Serendipitously, fatefully, Arthur decided to take part in following year’s race, and on January 1^st 1922, he duly made his New Year’s Resolution and began training. That way people would respect him, that way they would listen to his plight. Or so he believed.

Newton put his decision succinctly in the opening paragraph of his book – Races and Training in 1949, ‘I took up running seriously with the object of obtaining publicity for a farmers cause.’

His first foray into public controversy was in 1922 when he sent a letter to the press, claiming he was being discriminated against because he was a British settler. Much of what he said either fell on deaf ears or was politely opposed.

Later, on the 9th of May 1924, a fortnight before the annual Comrades Marathon, Arthur Newton received what seemed like a final rejection from the Department of Native Affairs. He was informed by the Minister of Justice, Mr Tielman Roos, they had decided there was no possibility of making use of the buildings on his farm and therefore the Department was unable to recommend the purchase of the property by the government.

Newton passed the letter on to the Natal Advertiser which printed it word for word in an editorial. The case, the paper concluded, was a symptom of disturbing political developments. ‘How easy it is to see what may happen to a great many settlers in the country if, and when, a native segregation policy and national antipathy to English-speaking immigrants give general Herzog and Mr Roos all the opportunity for the British de-population they so desire.’

The essence of Arthur Newton‘s case was always clear, a land tenure dispute over racial zoning. After returning from the War the South African government officially declared his region a black area.

He was unwilling to live isolated within the newly re-zoned territory and petitioned the authorities to either purchase his land or exchange it for a farm in a designated white area. The Department of Native Affairs flatly refused to offer compensation or land swaps, effectively rendering his freehold title useless, thus forcing him off his land.

Newton believed the public would not tolerate such a gross injustice if they only knew who he was. He therefore resolved to make himself famous to bring leverage to his case. Taking up running, entering and hopefully winning the 1922 Comrades Marathon at the age of 38 was a massive publicity stunt. His hope was it would successfully spotlight his political grievance.

Frustrated by the stonewalling, Newton believed he was being ignored because he was an “ordinary nobody.” If he became famous, the Prime Minister would be forced to listen to him. He took up competitive running at the age of 38 specifically to weaponise media attention.

In 1924, Hertzog’s Pact Government ousted General Smuts. Hertzog took office as both Prime Minister and Minister of Native Affairs and inherited Newton’s unresolved dossier.

By this time, Newton was no longer an obscure Natal farmer, he was a provincial, if not a national hero, a multi-time winner of the Comrades Marathon, and a world-record breaker. Newton explicitly used his interviews, public speeches, and press coverage after his racing victories to publicly target Hertzog and the Native Affairs Department.

He essentially turned his athletic career into a running protest against Hertzog’s ministry. He publicly shamed the government, using the platform of his fame to demand the compensation Hertzog’s department was withholding.

The first six months of 1925 can only have been deeply humiliating for Arthur Newton. The Land Bank, with which he had mortgaged his farm, was demanding its interest. The only way he could come up with the cash was finally to instruct the bank to sell the property at Ihluku. The Harding land that once had a considerable value when tobacco or cotton could be cultivated, now had virtually none, especially when it had reverted to grazing. This is how Newton later summed up the end of his South African farming adventure – ‘I was just able to meet my commitments, though there was nothing at all left over. After 20 years’ good work in the country I was worse off than when I landed.’

Despite achieving massive celebrity status and successfully forcing his grievances into the public eye, the political machinery of Hertzog’s government refused to budge on the principles of the land segregation laws. Utterly disillusioned by his dealings with both Smuts and Hertzog, Newton eventually gave up on South Africa entirely.

On the 30th July the residents of Maritzburg woke up to find a banner headline across the front page of the Natal Witness – “The mystery of Arthur Newton the famous marathon man,” and then below – “Where is Newton? Famous runner has vanished.”

The next day the Johannesburg Star joined in – “Newton disappears”

“The disappearance of the famous athlete has caused a sensation in Natal,” stated the Daily Express, while the News of the World went with the headline “Athletic Mystery.”

Newton let it be known privately he was soon going to leave South Africa. He intimated this would be for a British country, which in terms of accessibility could only mean Rhodesia. He told one journalist, “I cannot go on running much longer, I must go to work.” and then, “one cannot do both.”

When it became common knowledge he would soon be off, almost certainly to Rhodesia, the local press couldn’t hide its anxiety. The assumption was he would leave openly, probably by train. A sudden flight in the early hours of the morning seemed entirely out of character. He had no known creditors, he even paid his hotel bill.

In fact, it was the proprietor of Maritzburg’s Warrington House Hotel who first alerted the Press, telling the Natal Witness that Newton‘s practice was to set up at 3 o’clock each morning and go for a run. On Monday morning he went out at the usual hour but did not return.

He told the hotel he had virtually no money to his name and had left all his personal effects behind. A Durban radio station immediately put out a request for people to look out for Newton, and some of the papers speculated that the athlete might even have been contemplating suicide.

‘Until he’s whereabouts are established there is room for anxiety, because there can be no doubt he was suffering from a deep sense of injustice in regard to his alleged grievances,’ suggested the Johannesburg Star.

The next day, 31st July 1925, still with no news or sightings of Author Newton, the Natal Advertiser tried to calm the speculation. ‘To those who know him well, the thought that Newton has done himself an injury is not to be countenanced. He has a well-balanced mind and strong character.’

The paper thought it wise to print a detailed physical portrait of this idiosyncratic man. ‘In appearance he is of medium height, square shoulder, bronze and he has a small toothbrush moustache.’ What the paper could not say, because they did not know, was that Newton was carrying a suitcase strapped uncomfortably around one shoulder or the other.

He had left Maritzburg under cover of darkness. His aim – walk to Rhodesia.

He later put it, ‘I set off knowing I had got to make an entirely new starting in life and the sooner I was in a position to begin, the better.’

He had no money for trains or hotels and seemed to believe, naïvely, that he could manage the journey without being recognised. Before leaving he asked a friend to wire him some funds to the Natal Midlands town of Estcourt in the name of Mr. Hamilton, his middle name.

He decided to walk at night and sleep during the day. His route went over the mountains. He found it far too cold to sleep rough at night, he also wanted to avoid the possibility of someone recognising him in a passing car.

The strategy proved far more difficult than he imagined, and after 48 hours he was completely exhausted. It is worth emphasising that only two days before his departure he had established a world record for running more than 50 miles.

When he came to the small town of Mooi River, some 40 miles from Maritzburg, he could not resist the site of a small tea shop. ‘I had bungled badly this time. I was recognised as soon as I entered the place, and of course was obliged to admit my identity. Just try to imagine how frighteningly embarrassing that was.’

Once the famous client was on the road again, the owner of the tea shop, Miss McAllister, sent an immediate telegram to the Natal Witness. ‘Newton found’ ran the headline on the 1st of August.

Cold, insomnia, hunger, poverty and aching feet. These were the dominant characteristics of Newton‘s long walk to Rhodesia. He later reflected that had he not been a well-trained athlete, he would’ve given up within days. As long as he was within reach Maritzburg, he continued to walk only at night. At times he found the conditions perishing cold and confoundingly dark.

He lived on biscuits. They were light and full of the sugar he needed. They were also cheap. By the time he reached the boundary between Natal and the Transvaal he was down to his last half-crown. He decided to follow the railway tracks hoping to find a small rural station where there might be a waiting room fire that kept going through the night.

He sped through Pretoria, which he had last visited for his uncomfortable meeting with Prime Minister Herzog. He was now entering countryside that was new to him. It was dangerous for anyone on foot who was obliged to camp out at night, because this was notoriously lion country.

Further north he found the transition exhilarating after the endless grasslands of the Transvaal veld. Great piles of rocks, huge silent buttresses, vistas of precipices high above his head. An awesome gorge with the road blasted out of the cliffs and built up with concrete.

These must have been sobering moments in Newton‘s life. He was 42 years old and had neither money nor immediate prospect of earning any. He had completed an exhausting and hazardous journey, and he found himself in a corner of Africa where no one knew who he was. 

So if you, on Comrades Day, find yourself holding a flower, cap in hand standing before a small, somewhat nondescript enclave on the side of the old road between Pietermaritzburg and Durban without anything to say, pause and think. You are in the presence of a spirit who never gave up. Here sits a protest against injustice and prejudice, but it is not heavy.

Say your good mornings to Arthur, shout out your greeting. This is a spirit that found a way out, knew few boundaries, and kept going. This is a spirit who thought deeply, wrote much, and loved Beethoven.