This Journal was written in the Bethulie Concentration Camp just two
years ago.
A few days after my return from Europe (whither I had gone for six
months on the completion of a Theological course at Stellenbosch), a
telegram came from the Deputy Administrator of the Orange River
Colony, through the Rev. Wm. Robertson, inviting me to work as
Chaplain in one of the Concentration Camps.
The Rev. Mr. Pienaar, who had received a similar invitation, and I
therefore journeyed down to Bloemfontein a few days later. We
received great courtesy at the hands of Sir Hamilton Gould-Adams, the
Deputy Administrator, and every kindness from Mr. Robertson.
In a few days it was finally decided that Mr. Pienaar should go to
Irene, in the Transvaal, and I to the Concentration Camp at Bethulie.
Thither I forthwith travelled, arriving at my destination on the 21st
August.
The thought suggested itself the very first day that I might desire,
in after years, to recall my experiences in Camp, and so I decided to
keep a diary. This thought, and this alone, prompted me in the
matter. Of an evening, therefore, just before retiring, I noted down
the doings of the day, consulting at such times always my pocket
note-book.
What was written was done hurriedly, on the impulse of the moment--in
fact, simply scribbled down without, of course, any regard to style,
language, or form. Stress of circumstances must be held responsible
for the many undignified expressions in which the Diary abounds. It
should not be forgotten, moreover, that I was usually tired out after
the day's work, when these entries were made.
For almost a year the Diary lay in my desk before I could summon
courage to re-read it. After it had been hidden again for another
year, I rashly promised a sick friend to send it for her to read.
Fearing, however, that she would not be able to follow all the
contractions, I decided to copy it over, and it was while thus
engaged that it became clear to me that it should be published. Cui
bono? is of course, the question which must be faced. The only answer
I wish to plead is that this work is a tribute to Woman's Endurance,
and that it presents in the story of that endurance, and the
fortitude of the Dutch women and children, one of the nobler aspects
of the late war. And is not this plea enough? Cannot we sometimes
forget the inevitable political aspect of things and see beyond into
the human?
In conclusion, this: A diary is simply a confidential talk to one's
self of one's self--such is its prerogative. While, then, sending
forth into publicity this Journal in its entirety, so as not to mar
its integrity, need it be suggested how hard it is occasionally to
lay bare the naked soul within?
Durbanville,
Cape Colony,
September, 1903.
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