With Botha in the Field | Page 8

of wagons and motors, horses, mules
and guns; it ruined the roads and begot unceasing clouds of dust.
And from breakfast-time till late afternoon every street leading to Cape
Town and to the great Supply and Ordnance Stores at Maitland and at
Portswood Road was filled with grey and khaki carts and wagons
roaring steadily along in golden dust. In the whole Peninsula the
normal interests of life were for the time being completely side-tracked.
Being associated directly with the Commander-in-Chief and
Headquarters, we were fortunate in having our camp on the finest piece
of ground on the estate; our tents stretched down a strip of sloping
sward, sheltered from the wind by the wonderful trees that luxuriate on
the lower falls of Table Mountain; from one's tent entrance the eye was
caught by a panorama sweeping a radius of twenty miles inland. I shall
never forget those days when in the morning wind and sun I helped to
make out requisitions for shirts and breeches and saddlery to the notes
of wood music; nor those nights when we lay in our blankets on the
grass, stars swinging above, the town-lights winking away below us. It
is not often in life that one slips into dreamless slumber on soft grass,
lullabied by the night-song of a south-wester in pine trees centuries old.
If we had our discipline and our work at Cape Town, we had our
compensations, too. At that time khaki was completely the fashion
there. On the long promenade down Adderley Street to the pier-head
you could have counted a dozen men in khaki to one in mufti. It
reminded one of the days of the South African War fifteen years ago.
There was naturally a tendency to make much of the soldier-visitor. It
did not spoil him, though. A more orderly lot could not have been
found. And this with the people whose guests we were in indulgent
mood, and the civic authorities throwing open to us every amusement
at their disposal.
Though there was work ahead we were all sorry to leave Cape Town.

[Illustration: Brothers in Arms. The British Navy and Botha's
Bodyguard fraternised aboard. Many of the latter are, of course, pure
South African]
[Illustration: Boxing aboard. En route to German South-West Africa]
On Friday, the 5th of February, we struck camp at sunrise. All our
horses had been shipped the day before; we proceeded to the Docks by
train and on foot. As showing the kindness with which the troops were
treated I must mention that after the heavy work of embarking horses a
body of one of the Ladies' War Organisations arranged refreshments for
us at the railway station.
The journey by train from Groote Schuur to the City takes about fifteen
minutes; by motor about a quarter of that time. But war-work is a trifle
different; we were three hours on the heavily laden transport wagons
before we got to the transport Galway Castle.
Many of us who have moved about a good deal and are fond of the sea
were looking forward to that voyage. It was a four days' trip to Walvis
Bay; we thought we would have rather a jolly time. Disillusion is
hateful. And that trip was disillusionment itself. I suppose we
inexperienced ones overlooked automatically the fact that we were in
the ranks and travelling to war by transport. It wasn't a high-browed,
superior outlook that caused our undoing, I fancy. The thing is, you
must rough it soldiering by ship before you grasp the idea. There were
other points, too.
[Illustration: Awaiting landing from the Transport]
[Illustration: Trekking over the terrible Sand Dunes near the Coast,
German South-West Africa]
[Illustration: Some of the first Burghers to land at Walvis]
When we got safely aboard the Galway Castle many of us fancied, in
expressive phrase, that we were "well away"; that we had struck a good
thing. Our officers were accommodated in befitting state in the first
class; our warrants and staff non-commissioned dignitaries were also
fixed up in correct style; the rest of us had plenty of room and quietness
to ourselves in the third class. All this by 2.30 in the afternoon.
And then eighteen hundred more warriors filed down the quays and,
like Mr. Jim Hawkins, came aboard, sir. Now most of these were as
good fellows as you could wish for; but they were landsmen, such as
never go down to the sea in ships. A large proportion, indeed, had

never seen the sea before viewing it at Cape Town. (South Africa is a
fair-sized territory.) Very few of them were good sailors. It is not a
man's fault that he is not a good sailor; nor is he to blame for knowing
little of the ways that make for cleanliness and comfort under