_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 ships, 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
assured 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' Albums" 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.