War's Brighter Side Part 30

PRICES IN BLOEMFONTEIN.

When you've tightened up your waistbelt just a pair of holes or so, When you've tackled your last bit of armoured "duff,"

Then you put your bally pipe on, and you puff and spit and blow, And you realize half ration ain't enough.

You go into the market and you purchase lots of grub Off the farmers whom friend Steyn has done a scoot from, And when you ask the price of it, that's where you cop the rub, For it takes away your breath just like a pom-pom.

Duke's son, Cook's son, all of 'em want their scoff, Fifty thousand horse and foot struggling to get some grub, Each of 'em doing his country's work, and each being _done_ in turn, If you want to buy things in Bloemfontein you must pay! pay! pay!

When they charge a "bob" for hair-cut and a tanner for a shave, It makes you say things that you didn't ought, And the 'umble loaf of "rootey" costs a tanner, or a bob, Is this the kind of sympathy they're taught?

There's a luxury called b.u.t.ter that Tommy likes to buy, And he'll have it if he's got the oof, you bet, But three bob a bloomin' pound makes a hole in Atkins' pay 'Cos he ain't paid C'lonial wages (not just yet).

Clerk's son, Grocer's son, son of a Haberdasher, All the Gents in Khaki chucking their pelf away, Each of 'em's done his country's work, It's hard to be done in turn, If you want to buy grub in Bloemfontein you've to pay! pay! pay!

When you've tightened up your waistbelt just a pair of holes or so, When you lay yourself out flat and go to sleep, Then you dream of home and mother and some glorious feasts to go, And you wake up, pray, and find you've done a weep; For you've dreamt that bread and b.u.t.ter's gone up 3d. more in price, (These loyal (?) folks charge really what they choose, sir), Then you say, "Well, roll on, England," where there ain't no bloomin' lice, And where there's many a cheap and comfy booser.

Merchant's son, Cook's son, sons of the plebs galore, Rushing, in ragged Khaki, anxious to spend their bra.s.s, Each of 'em's done his country's work, but the extra bob a day Don't go far in Bloemfontein, where you've always to pay! pay! pay!

"BLOBSWITCH."

SONS OF BRITAIN.

BY W. BLELOCH.

When the bugle call to battle sounds Afar in the land of our birth, In the cause of race and Queen to fight, We rise from the ends of the earth.

Wherever the battle may be We rally by land and by sea To join in the fight of the free, And our foemen have Britons to face.

CHORUS:

Then Britain's sons again Fill up the ranks with men, Who'll fight! who'll die!

Whose battle-cry: "True Britons we remain."

We are sons of Britain every one With pride of the blood of our race, And we'll carry Britain's story on As our fathers did in their place.

Whatever the work to be done, We seek a full share, every one, And fighting till victory's won Of the burden and glory we claim,

CHORUS:

Then Britain's sons again, &c.

The glorious deeds her great have done Are ours, whether Saxon or Celt, As heirs of their name and fame we come From snows and from bush and from veldt.

Our honour we'll ever keep bright, By holding the front of the fight, And jealously guarding the right For our sons and their sons again.

CHORUS:

Then Britain's sons again, &c.

ORANGE PEEL.

It may interest our friends at the Cape to know that a certain doctor, who lives not 1,000 miles from the Paarl--and who came on ambulance business to the Free State--was very busy on his arrival here, giving it out as the news of the day that "officers of the English Army were busy with sjamboks driving Tommy off the boats as Tommy did not want to fight." This statement was made in the Bloemfontein Club before several witnesses and is quite authentic.

"THE BRAVEST DEED."

It was at the battle of Abraham's Kraal. The Boers had fled from a position which we now occupied. They, in their flight, had to cross the open veldt to another kopje three-quarters of a mile from the first. We fired volley after volley into their huddled ma.s.ses. My old friend standing by me noticed a wounded Boer trying to escape. He immediately dashed out amid a perfect hail of bullets, caught the escaping Boer, threw him across his shoulders and dashed back to cover, the bullets falling all round him. Unscathed himself, his burden was shot to death.

Private A. J. HARD, N.S.W. Mounted Infantry, Australia.

DEAR SIR,--The bravest deed I witnessed while with the 6th Division was the following:--

It was at Paardeberg on Sunday, 18th February, about 5 p.m. We were watching a hill overlooking Osfontein farm-house, when some of the enemy were seen to enter the garden surrounding that house. So an order was given by Second Lieutenant Romilly for No. 1 section of the above-named company to advance and try and drive them out. We commenced the advance by short rushes, meanwhile the enemy sending down a few shots. We succeeded in getting to within four hundred yards of the house when a perfect hail of bullets came, both from the house and hill. Then the order came to retire, as the fire was becoming too hot to attempt to get any closer. It was during this retirement that what I saw happened. One of our men, Pte. Driscoll, was shot in the back, and down he fell, badly hurt, when Second Lieutenant Romilly, on seeing him fall, at once knelt down and dressed his wound, doing it as coolly as if on a drawing-room floor. After doing this, with the help of Pte. Brown of the same Company, he hurried the man back to safer quarters, having to go a distance of over four hundred yards before being out of danger. The bullets fell all around them quite thick. How they managed to escape is quite marvellous, as several bullets went through their clothing, and one, as I heard the officer say, went between his lips--a close shave indeed!

Whether any recognition will be forthcoming for the above gallant deed, I cannot say, as there were none of those who occupy higher positions to testify as to its correctness; but the men certainly deserve something for so brave a deed.

I am, Sir, yours faithfully, AN EYE-WITNESS.

CHAPTER XVI

OUR LOSS AND THE ARMY'S

_The Departure of Mr. Kipling, leaving_ THE FRIEND _vigorous with the Impetus he gave it._

Rudyard Kipling left Bloemfontein for Capetown on the night of April 1st, in the same train that bore away Sir Alfred Milner, Colonel Hanbury Williams, and Colonel Girouard. The High Commissioner had been declared to be leaving a day or two later, but started at once in order to avoid giving the Boers notice to prepare mischief.

Of the happy days of boyish delight we editors spent with Mr. Kipling many brought incidents too trifling to be noted here, yet which went to fill a heaping loving cup of pleasant memories. "Heavens!" he once exclaimed, "how good it is to be with men who are doing things!" There was, for instance, the day when--as the reader may have perceived--two poems bore a note of merely suggested complaint from the sick in the hospitals. That note struck Mr. Kipling's sensibility, and he and Mr.

Landon and I seized armsful of FRIENDS and set out upon a tour of the hospitals--then far too numerous in the public and semi-public buildings of the place. Mr. Kipling went ahead and distributed the papers, and we followed and whispered who he was to the sufferers in the cots. I never shall forget the look that came in each man's eyes, or how every one of them who was able raised himself upon an elbow to stare after the poet as he pa.s.sed from room to room.

"G.o.d bless him," they said; "he's the soldier's friend."

And surely a blessing proceeded from him, in response to that which he received, for, at the knowledge of his presence, a new vigour and a sense of delight, such as they had almost forgotten how to feel, came to the sufferers. He had nothing of the theatrical about him, made no speeches, conversed in hushed tones, halted nowhere, posed not even to the slightest extent--but went on with doctor or nurse through the wards, listening and looking. I think that Mr. Landon and I were more conscious of the reflection of his fame than was he from whom it proceeded.

At one stage of our adventure we determined to cross from one hospital to another, over some intervening gardens. What an unsuspected wildness lay among those walled enclosures in the confines of a nation's capital. Little hills, little rivers, marshes, precipices, walls on the edges of tiny cliffs! It proved a better feat for Italian cavalrymen than for a stout poet, a man with a game leg and arms in lint, and a third one who did not know it, but who was already poisoned with fever germs. However, we had set it for ourselves to do, and we did it--without any more serious mishap than a kick in the equatorial region which I bestowed on the poet in dropping over a wall.

Mr. Kipling had other experiences with hospitals when we were with him and when he was by himself. He was qualified to testify as he did before the Commission that looked into the manner in which the care of the sick and wounded was bestowed.

While I was in Capetown I heard a story of an adventure of his, in which the parts played by him and by the hospital people were eminently characteristic of both. To begin with, he discovered that there were no bandages in a certain hospital! The reader imagines that such a state of things must have been most extraordinary--but it was not. Why should we conceal facts or mince words if we are earnestly endeavouring to probe our own weaknesses and mend our faults? I knew of hospitals without cots, without sheets, without pillows, without measuring gla.s.ses, without thermometers. These "hospitals" must have been little more than mere surgeons and staffs, for they applied to the Red Cross people for nearly everything--except medicines--which is required in the care of the sick. Thus Peter was robbed to pay Paul, for Tommy's "comforts" were swallowed up in getting him his necessaries. This was the case in Kimberley after the relief of the town, and it was again the case in Bloemfontein. But to return to Capetown. There Mr. Kipling discovered a hospital without bandages, in desperate need of bandages, in a city containing stores of bandages on sale in many places.

Mr. Kipling mentioned to an acquaintance that he was going to supply that establishment with bandages, and this acquaintance, who was connected with the _Daily Mail's_ "Absent Minded Beggar Fund," at once offered to pay for all that Mr. Kipling would buy and take to the hospital. A cart was quickly loaded with bandages, and then Mr.