With Botha in the Field | Page 9

even the
most trying conditions on shipboard. But on the whole we did not enjoy
that four days' voyage to Walvis Bay. It was a case of bedlam as to
noise, and "muck in" and take what you can get.
Though my knowledge of organisation for a campaign is not great, I
would suggest that for campaign work the only kind of ship used
should be a vessel absolutely and completely fitted up as a troopship. If
the ships the Government used for the South-West campaign transport
had all been fitted up uncompromisingly as "troopers" I fancy we
should have fared better.
At 8 a.m. on the 9th we arrived at Walvis Bay. General Botha, who,
with his Chief of Staff, A.D.C.'s, etc., had embarked at the Cape on the
auxiliary cruiser _Armadale Castle,_ arrived at Walvis later in the
morning. We spent the day on board the Galway Castle awaiting orders
and the disembarkation of horses.
Since the beginning of the operations in South-West Africa the world
has been flooded with descriptions of Walvis Bay; at least I have seen
two books with long descriptions of the place, and more than a dozen
articles on the subject. I shall not add to this list by any long (and
assuredly unconvincing) attempt at a new picture. When you have left
the green-covered kopjes of the Cape a few days before and come to
anchor in Walvis Bay on a cold morning you think you have reached
No-man's-land after a fast voyage. It is a first impression only. The
place is desolate enough; it suggests the Sahara run straight into the sea,
or the discomforting dreariness of Punta Arenas, in Patagonia.
But first impressions are not everything. Walvis Bay is desolate; a
study in yellow ochre sands, burnt sienna duns, tin shanties veiled in
hot desert winds, and a sea that seldom knows anything more than a
ripple. But that is the point. Walvis Bay is nothing now--but it is a bay.
As a fact, it looks to be one of the finest natural harbours in the world.
With the South-West interior developing in the future, Walvis Bay
should have something to look forward to.
[Illustration: Before the Advance. General Botha photographed with the
Red Cross Sisters]

[Illustration: General Botha and Staff alighting for an Inspection. (The
famous Brigadier-General Brits, who trekked to Namutoni, is the fourth
figure from the right.)]
We left the Galway Castle on the 11th, disembarking into lighters, to
be towed up the coast to the occupied German port of Swakopmund.
Down to the tender, on to the lighter, kits and equipment, and farewell
to the quietened steamer. For a while we stood away from her, and rose
and fell under no way on the still grey waters. Then we saw a tender
from the Armadale Castle steaming towards us. She came up on our
starboard quarter and made fast. A figure well known to us all crossed
the gangway and climbed to the boat-deck of our steam tender. We had
not seen the Commander-in-Chief in personal command since the past
bitter days of the Rebellion. A great cheer hit the morning silence and
echoed over the bay to each transport at anchor. With a smile of
genuine pleasure, General Botha brought his hand to the salute. And
away we went, the tender steaming full speed ahead, blunt-nosed
barges surging in her wake, for Swakopmund.
Swakopmund was the first Headquarters of the Northern Force, Union
Expeditionary Army; we made two sojourns at this German port. First
we were there for a period of some five weeks, from February 11 till
March 18, whilst awaiting the first advance into the Namib Desert; then
we were there for a further month, from the 27th of March till the 25th
of April, whilst awaiting the general advance to Windhuk and Karibib.
[Illustration: Awaiting the Advance. The Commander-in-Chief at tea
with the Red Cross Sisters]
[Illustration: Awaiting the Advance. Garrison Sports at Swakopmund.
Start for 100 yards race]
[Illustration: Awaiting the Advance. Garrison Sports. Winner]
It is difficult to write about Swakopmund. As a town it is the most
extraordinary place I have seen. I use the superlative deliberately. But I
do not wish to live there. It is purely artificial, and artificial to a ghastly
degree too. There is not a spot of vegetation. There is not a genuine tree
to be seen. The water has a detestable, unsatisfying blurred taste, to
which the adjective "brackish" is applied. It is probable that a town
occupied by enemy troops does not look at its best; but the fact that it
was under such conditions when I first knew Swakopmund makes no
important difference. The place in its essentials must always be the

same. If ever there was a work of bluff Swakopmund is