ENGLAND-FONTEIN
_April 22nd, 1901._
"We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome,
Our ship is at the shore,
An' you must pack your 'aversack,
_For we won't come back no more_."
So from going up to Elandsfontein, which is by Johannesburg, it came to
the above cheerful sentiment. And this is how it happened. An order came
from somewhere to our doctor, who had of late so hardened his heart, to
"invalid convalescents freely," and, to be brief, within a few days
nearly every man at Maitland was marked for home, wore a smiling face,
and drew warm clothes for the voyage.
The next burning questions were "What boat will it be and when does she
sail?" Needless to say, these interrogatories were answered at least
thrice a day, and were always wide of the mark. Still, we were booked
for home, and could afford to wait cheerfully. Our hut (No. 1),
inhabited by the thirty best men in the camp (any man of that hut will
tell you this assertion is correct), thereupon blossomed forth as the
publishing and editorial offices of a camp newspaper known as the
"LATEST DEVELOPMENTS GAZETTE,"
WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED
"THE COOKHOUSE NEWS."
In this journal shipping intelligence was a speciality, and topical
cartoons a great feature. We claimed the largest circulation in the
camp. The various articles, stop-press news, and cartoons, were stuck on
the walls of the hut and afforded much entertainment. Of course, B.P.
was very unpopular in Cape Town and with us, and had to be dealt with
severely. (Note.--Not the Mafeking man or the "worth a guinea a box"
lot, but the Bubonic Plague).
A few days before sailing I caught sight of a well-known name in the
dread casualty list: "69th Co. I.Y., 16,424, Trooper R. Blake, (severely
wounded, since dead). Hartebeestefontein." "Poor Blake!" He used to sing
at our concerts on the boat coming out, at our bivouac fire when we
indulged in an impromptu sing-song, and at Pretoria, when in the police,
he often appeared at the various musical entertainments held in the town
or hospitals. His mimicry of a growling or barking dog, big or small,
was marvellous and notorious. I remember once how a fellow on one
occasion, accustomed to Master Blake's games, on hearing a persistent
yapping at his heels, at length said "Oh, shut up, young Blake!" and
turned round to see a live terrier there. A verse in the last issue of
our paper, expressed, in a humble way, every man's feelings on such
matters.
We are leaving them behind us,
'Neath the veldt and by the town,
The men who joined and fought with us,
Who shared each up and down.
We are going home without them,
But our thoughts will on them dwell,
We shall often talk about them,
Good comrades all, farewell!
The day before we left, the sketches and other matter were sold by
auction, it having been previously decided to devote the proceeds of the
sale to the last No. 1 Hut annual ball. By way of explanation, it must
be noted that the hut had an annual ball _once a week_, "dancing
strictly prohibited." To be explicit, the annual ball was a weekly
dinner. The auction was a great success, a real auctioneer presiding,
well over L10 being realised.
The farewell dinner was a grand affair and very convivial. To my
surprise I was presented with a handsome silver cigarette case by the
so-called staff of the "L.D. News" as a token of good will and their
appreciation of my humble efforts to relieve the monotony of camp life.
The next day, Friday, March 29th, we embarked on the transport
"Aurania," and, as the sun was setting, bade a sarcastic good-bye to
Table Mountain.
As regards the voyage home, which was accomplished in three weeks, much
might be said, but probably little of particular interest. A transport
is not a very luxurious affair for the common soldier, though the
accommodation for the officers amply atones for what may be lacking for
the ninety-and-nine, as it were. But what on earth, or sea, did it
matter, we were going home.
Good Friday was not a success, an officer committed suicide, a sergeant
in the Royal Sussex died of dysentery, the engines broke down, and we
had no buns. At St. Vincent we stopped two-and-a-half days to coal, and
flew the yellow flag at the fore, being in quarantine on account of the
Bubonic outbreak at Cape Town. In the Bay of Biscay a Yeoman comrade
died of enteric, and was buried two days from home. Friday, the 18th, on
a lovely spring morning, the sea being as smooth as glass, we sighted
the cliffs of England once again.
"England, my England."
Then we commenced passing shipping; a man at the tiller of a Cornish
fishing boat waving his cap to us made it clear that we were getting
back to our real ain folk once more. At eight in the evening we were
lying off Netley Hospital, and taking in the proffered advice of a large
board in a field by the waterside to eat Quaker Oats, and by twelve
o'clock the following night I was home once again.
The treking, the fighting, the guards and pickets, the hospitals are
done with now. My small part in the game has been played, and, with a
slight and permissible alteration, the concluding lines of a favourite
poem must end these simple records.
"But to-day I leave the Army, shall I curse its service then?
God be thanked, whate'er comes after, I have lived and toiled with men!"