A Yeoman's Letters Part 13

The mosquitoes here seem rather more troublesome than their Pretoria relatives. There are twenty men in the next room, and only three of us here; and we three get a frightful lot of attention from these skeeturs. They seem vicious as well as hungry. We fancy this is to be explained by the fact that they had been marked down from up country for the base and England, and are enraged at being kept here with the prospect of being returned whence they came; their hunger in this R.A.M.C. Hospital we can understand, and would sympathise with more if they did not treat us as rations. Other patients have a theory that they are the lost and much d.a.m.ned spirits of R.A.M.C. officers, non-commissioned officers, and men, who have gone before and come back to their old earthly billet. But of course these are all mere surmises, and hardly to be regarded seriously. On Thursday I am to be sent to Rondebosch, Tommy's oft and ever-repeated cry, "Roll on, dear old Blighty" (England), seems vainer than ever as time spins out its endless coc.o.o.n.[]

At the Base.

McKenzie's Farm, Maitland (once again).

Sunday, March 3rd, 1901.

Of late my addresses have been many and varied. The above is the latest. I have filtered through into Maitland, which has changed considerably since last April. On Thursday last I left Wynberg for the convalescent camp at Rondebosch without any regret, for, as a matter of fact, I was getting hungry. On the afternoon of that day I found myself one of a very unselect-looking band of khaki men, parading before the terrible R.A.M.C. Sergt.-Major of the Wynberg Hospital.

Just before parading, I saw the gun carriage, alluded to in my last, being used; going past our ward, in slow time, with reversed arms, went the perspiring and, let us hope not, but I fear 'twas so, the angry Tommies told off as the escort. Then came the gun carriage with its flag-covered burden. Only another enteric, only another broken heart or so at home, another vacant chair to look at and sigh, and the small but strictly regimental and unsympathetic procession had pa.s.sed; and the half-interrupted conversation in the ward went gaily on. Having paraded and answered to our names, a doctor strolled down the ranks questioning us, "Are you all right?" All those who answered said "Yes." The question was supposed to be put individually, but by the time he got to where I was, the worthy man was slurring over about three or four at a time. I didn't trouble to reply, it being obviously unnecessary. About half-an-hour later, the ambulance carts came up, which were to bear us to Rondebosch, and we were ordered to carry our kits down and get in. So the halt and the broken picked up their kits-some of them were very heavy-and staggered with them to the carts, a distance of about fifty yards.

In particular, I noticed one poor fellow, a gunner of the 37th Battery, R.F.A. A water cart had gone over him at Mafeking, and fractured three ribs and affected his spine. The poor, emaciated, bent figure of what had once been a smart soldier lifted a rather heavy kit and tottered towards the carts. I felt disgusted at seeing such unnecessary labour thrust on a man, who never should have left the hospital save to go home. But he had been turned out by the powers which be, and-I was going to say shouldn't, but the R.A.M.C. are all honourable men-when I saw a sprightly, well-fed R.A.M.C. Lance-Corporal walking smartly after him, and in a relieved voice I remarked to the man on my left: "The Corporal is going to carry it for him," to which my neighbour remarked: "He can't, he's got a stripe." And, begad, he didn't! He pa.s.sed him, apparently not having noticed him. I shall have a little more to tell you of the gunner presently.

The drive to Rondebosch, through Wynberg, Kenilworth and Claremont, was lovely beyond words. I had a box seat, and as we drove through the avenues of trees, down the roads, with the gardens of the comfortable-looking bungalows a ma.s.s of green foliage and tropical blooms on either side of us, I felt like a gaol-bird escaped from his cage. You may laugh at me if you like, but there I sat with dilating nostrils and eyes, absorbing all I could. Often we pa.s.sed English girls in white costumes, and pretty, clean-looking children. It was a real treat. Of course, they took no notice of us. We were a common and not altogether pleasing looking lot, many among us being

"Poor fighting men, broke in her wars."

At last the pleasant drive came to its end, and we entered the Rondebosch camp. I was told off with 25 others to a hut, drew bedding and blankets-which included bugs-had some tea at a coffee bar, looked about, and turned in for the night. Alas! that night and others. Rondebosch boasts of a dry canteen and another, where Tommy can obtain beer, oftentimes called "Glorious Beer," even as we allude to "Glorious War." Over the sale of this to men, fresh from the hospitals recovering from enteric, wounds, and so forth, there is no restriction. The result needs no imagination-copious libations, songs, rows, and vomitings.

The next day I was put on as Orderly Sergeant. Now, if I was Sergeant-Major and had among my subordinate "non-coms." a man I wished to get into trouble, I should make him an Orderly Sergeant at Rondebosch. About every half-hour the bugles went "Orderly Sergeants," and up I doubled. In all, I attended about a score of these summonses, and even then omitted to report a man who had been absent since reveille.

This last sin of omission came about in this way. I was anxious to turn in early and get a little sleep if possible, but could not do so, as I had to report "all present and correct" at tattoo. Anyhow, I strolled down to our hut at nine o'clock and found that the poor gunner alluded to already was in great pain, writhing about and groaning horribly. One of his chums who was with him told me he could not find a doctor, and the chaplain, who had looked in, had said that he could not get him even a drop of hot water.

The poor fellow was really bad, and thought he was going out, and I should not have been surprised if he had. Soon a few more chums came in, somewhat beery, and commenced to buck him up. The great method apparently on such occasions is to grip the sufferer's hand very tightly, pull him about a good deal, punch him now and again, and tell him to bear up. "Stick it, mate! * * * it, you ain't going to * * * well die! Stick it, mate!" And there he lay, with his pals, fresh from the canteen, exhorting him to stick it, a poor broken Reserve man, with a wife and children across the seas. At last I went and, after no little bother, discovered an R.A.M.C. Sergeant, who found his Sergeant-Major, and the two came with me to our hut. The result was a mustard leaf, which was sent down to me to place on the sufferer. With this on the left side of his stomach, bugs biting, mosquitoes worrying, and comrades lurching in, singing and rowing, and beds collapsing, the night pa.s.sed. The next day the doctor saw him, and he was returned to Wynberg.[11]

In the afternoon we paraded and came on here. In the evening I slipped off to Cape Town and met a friend, with whom I dined at the "Grand." Having a decent dinner and amongst decently dressed people made me feel quite a Christian, though as a matter of fact, most of the diners appeared to be Jews. The sheenie man refugee is still very much in evidence, and though he sells things at ruinous prices (for himself, he says) seems to do well.

Tuesday, March 6th. After being kept outside the doctor's bureau from 9 till 12.30, the great man, the controller of fates, the donor of tickets, the Maitland medicine man, has seen me, and, whatever he has done, has not marked me for home.[]

Another Alb.u.m!!

March 9th.

To weary you with a further continuation of the experiences of a forlorn Yeoman, who, having drifted from Pretoria, now finds himself on the sands of Maitland, with a distant and tantalising view of the sea and its s.h.i.+ps, seems an unworthy thing to do. But, alas! I have acquired a terrible habit of letter-writing. News or no news, given the opportunity, I religiously once a week contribute to the English mail bag; so here goes for a really short letter.

On Thursday, having endured as much toothache as I deemed expedient without complaint, and goaded on by a sleepless night, I paraded before the doctor, and having borne with him moderately and half satisfied his credulity, obtained from him a note to a Cape Town dentist for the following day. I am now in that being's hands, he has considerately a.s.sured me that no man is a hero to his own dentist.

In Cape Town there are two topics-the town guard and the plague, known as bubonic; owing to the latter, great is the stink of disinfectants.

I have already made allusions to the "Sisters' Alb.u.ms" and the contributions which they levied. Here at McKenzie's Farm, I have struck another style of book. This is run by Sergeant-Major Fownes (10th Hussars) who is in charge of all of the Yeomanry at the base. It is a "Confession Book," containing reasons "Why I joined the Imperial Yeomanry" and "Why I left." It has been contributed to by members of nearly every I.Y. squadron in South Africa. Thanks to the courtesy of its owner, I am able to give you a selection from its contents, omitting the names and squadrons of the contributors only.[]

WHY I JOINED THE YEOMANRY. WHY I LEFT.

1.To escape my creditors.1.The old man stumped up and I am in no danger of receiving a blue paper.

2.Patriotism.2.Captured at Lindley. Too much mealie porridge and rice.

3.Because I was sick of England.3.Because I have changed my mind.

4.Could always ride, could always shoot, Thought of duty, thought of loot.4.Gammy leg, couldn't ride, Sent to Cape Town, had to slide.

5."England Expects --" (you know the rest).5."Go not too often into thy neighbour's house, lest he be weary of thee!"

Hospitals.

1. Imperial Yeomanry Field. 2. Johannesburg Civil. 3. No. 6 General. 4. No. 9 General. 5. No. 8 General. 6. Deelfontein. 7. Maitland.

6.To injure the Boers.6.Because they injured me.

7.(All Excuses used up.)7.Love of my native land (England).

8.I considered it was the right thing for an Englishman to do.8.I did not get enough fighting, but too much messing about.

9.Because I thought it was my duty.9."Fed Up!!!"

10.A broken heart.10.A broken leg (more serious and imperative).

11.Anxiety to get to South Africa.11.Anxiety to get away from it.

12.For the sake of a little excitement, which I can't get at home and didn't get out here.12.Joined B.P.'s Police Force to still search for the impossible.

13.Patriotic Fever!!!13.Enteric Fever!!!

14.I did it during the Patriotic Mania, 1899-1900. Under like circ.u.mstances believe I'd do it again.14.Ill health.

15.Sudden splash of Patriotism upon visiting a Music Hall.15.Bathing one day, found varicose veins much to my delight. Invalided.

16.Poetry.16.Prose.

17."Married in haste."17."Repented at leisure."

18.Because I did not bring my aged and respected father up properly.18.To see if he has improved.

19.To kill Time and Boers.19.Because Time and Boers wait for no man.

20.Because I am Irish and wanted to fight.20.Because I want to do more fighting and am joining the S.A.C.

21.Love of War.21.Love of Peace.

22.For Sport.22.Time for close season.

23.My Country's call my ardour fired.23.The "Crisis" o'er, I've now retired.

24.Because I was tired of the Old Country. 24.Because I was sick of the New.

25.Old England's Honour, Glory, Fame, Such thoughts were in my mind.

To die the last but not disgraced, A V.C. perhaps to find.

To sound the charge, to meet the foe, To win or wounded lie, My firstborn son and I should fight And, if the needs be, die.25.Alas, no Glory have I earned, No Trumpet's Requiem found, Altho' I've laid upon the veldt, With scanty comfort round.

My son has seen more fights than I, Tho' he is scarce fifteen, Whilst I must sound my trumpet at The Yeoman's Base-fontein.

Sergt.-Trumpeter (McKenzie's Farm).

26.Hungry for a fight.26.Appet.i.te appeased.

27.Drink and Drink.27.Drink and Drink.

28.Vanity.28.Vexation of Spirit.

29.Because I thought: 'Twas a glorious life on the veldt, So unrestrained and free. (Note. Read opposite page.) 'Twas grand to lie 'neath the star-lit sky In a blanket warm and nice.

'Twas exciting to gallop over the plains To the music of the Mausers.

Bully beef and biscuits are all very well, And so, for a time, is jam.

29.But I found: That after twelve months of the same I felt It was not the life for me.

That when you wanted to go to sleep, You're scratching and hunting for l-ce.

That 'twas very unpleasant to ride all day When you'd lost the seat of your trousers.

That to get nothing else for more than six months, Would make any fellow say "D--!"

30.To have a lively time.30.What with Mausers by day and crawlers by night. I had it.

31.Wanted to see a little of South Africa.31.Have seen enough.

32.Came out on Chance.32.Going home to a Certainty.

33.To escape the Police at home.33.Same reason here.

34.Had always preached Patriotism and thought it was the time to put theory into practice.34.The Patriotic Fever has run its natural course.

35.Because I had nothing to do at home Bar drinking whiskies and sodas alone, And shooting pheasants which is beastly slow, So I thought I'd give the Bo-ahs a show.35.Because the Bo-ahs shot me instead, And the papers (confound them) reported me "dead,"

That sort of game is rather too bad, So the prodigal now returns to his dad.

36.Thought I would get the V.C.36.Got C.B. instead!

37.A soldier's son and a volunteer Heaps of glory, bags of beer.37.Bags of biscuits hard as rocks, Smashed my teeth and gave me sox!

38.To become acquainted with Colonials before settling.38.To join the Bodyguard for same reason and-better pay.

39.For adventure.39.To go back to a hum-drum life, which is better than a Dum-Dum death.

40.Northumbria's reply, "Duty."40.Novelty somewhat worn off, and military discipline not being at all adapted to my temperament.

In a few days all the men marked for home will be leaving, and to those they will be leaving behind them the yearning to be on the sea once again, seems stronger than ever,

"Can you hear the crash on her bows, dear la.s.s, And the drum of the racing screw.

As she s.h.i.+ps it green on the old trail, our own trail, the home trail, As she lifts and 'scends on the long trail-the trail that is always new?"[]