Dear Laurence
Outlined below is my second novel, Cape Crusader, that I would like you to consider representing.
Cape Crusader is a blend of history, action and comedy; Young Winston with generous pinches of Bond and Bean. It is a mixture of fact and fiction and is the second volume in a series I am writing.
The book is set in 1899 at the zenith of Empire and takes the reader from England to Cape Town in what was then called Cape Province. From there we travel by train across the Great Karoo and on to Kimberley the mining town that was the heart of the De Beers Company and source of wealth that funded the political and territorial ambitions of Sir Cecil Rhodes.
Kimberley was one of the three towns in the Cape that were besieged by the Boers and it was here Rhodes decided to stay for the duration of the siege, much to the annoyance of the Boers.
Taking the reader there are our heroes Bernard Baker and his batman Sam Smith. Where Cairo to Khartoum, the first book, took the folly of youth as its central theme, Cape Crusader, tackles prejudice.
Bernard and Sam are sent as part of a covert force to boost the defences of Kimberley in the face of the threat from the ‘filthy stinking Boers’ as Bernard’s commanding officer calls them. In this book Bernard and Sam find their loyalties and friendship divided between duty, orders and the greatest enemy of the besieged, starvation. Along the way they encounter support where they didn’t expect to find it and feel the long arm of military law grasp them by their shoulders.
I have included a synopsis and the two chapters.
Synopsis of Cape Crusader
Word count – 81,900
The novel starts and ends with our heroes, now old men, coping with a gloomy afternoon in December 1935 at the height of the great depression. The Christmas tree lights are laid out on the floor and Sam is busy trying to find the broken bulb. From the kitchen, float comforting smells of freshly baked pies freshly baked and ready for the Christmas feast Bernard hosts for the village. The evocative mixture of poverty and plenty makes Bernard think back to the Christmas of 1899 when he and Sam spent the festive season in far less pleasant surroundings.
The story moves back to August 1899 and our heroes are about to board the SS Bridgewater ostensibly bound for a tour of duty in India. Once the Bridgewater is under way the Colonel addresses the men they are told they are in fact off to the Cape Colony, now Republic of South Africa, to boost the town defences of Kimberley, Mafeking and Ladysmith against the rising threat from the Boer.
On the voyage to Cape Town, the Bridgewater moors at St Thomas an island off the coast of what was then French Congo for supplies. St Thomas was the departure point for slaves bound for the plantations of the Caribbean, a fact that is not lost on Bernard. The next day the Bridgewater carries on to Cape Town.
Once there, the great trek north to Kimberley by railway gets under way. The train stops at De Aar Junction where the troops are fed and it is here Bernard faces segregation for the first time and is appalled that men from the local tribe are being paid only in food for their labour. After the meal the train continues northeast.
Once in Kimberley Bernard and Sam get to meet Major Burnett Hubbert-Brown the garrison commander who appears to be more interested in his collection of beetles than anything else.
Patrols out into the bush are arranged and on the first, Bernard is joined by his colleagues Martins and McLeish. The group is surrounded by a group of Khoi tribesmen led by their chief, Mpulongo Tchitsoo. Bernard manages to convince the Chief they are friends and they leave only after Bernard has promised to visit the Khoi village, much to the disapproval of Martins and McLeish.
The tension between the English and Boer armies builds and after an unexpected meeting with General De Wet, Bernard decides that he and Sam should go and warn the Khoi of the imminent conflict. On the way to the village Bernard mistakes a herd of buffalo for Aberdeen Angus cows. The buffalo stampede and Bernard only narrowly avoids being trampled after Sam shoots the lead animal. They tie the dead animal to their horses and take it to the village as a gift. Once there, Bernard and Sam warn the Khoi of the threat from the Boer and recommend that the village moves away. While the village decide whether they want to move Bernard and Sam take a ride into the bush and they manage to kill a Black Mamba that is harassing their horses. Bernard cuts open the animal with his bayonet to discover a huge diamond.
Back in the village they meet a Methodist missionary, Peveril Standewick Burkett, and they all sit down to feast and drink with the village. Bernard is captivated by one of the women and she leads him into a dance, meanwhile the drink is taking its effect and the next thing Bernard knows it is the next morning and he wakes up next to the woman. Burkett relates the events of the previous evening and how Bernard forced Burkett to marry Bernard to the woman at gun point. Bernard is even more embarrassed when he discovers it is in fact the chief’s daughter. Stricken by shame, Bernard makes a hasty retreat back to barracks, closely followed by Sam.
Over the following days the Boer forces converge on the border and the tension starts to build. On the 9th of October Colonel Kekewich announces the Boer ultimatum, giving the British 48 hours to withdraw from the Cape Colony.
The night before the deadline expires a train steams up from Cape Town to Kimberley. On it is Cecil Rhodes and his entourage. With them they bring hampers of food, crates of wine and champagne and all manner of luxury items.
The next morning Sam starts looking unwell and by the evening he has a cough and a headache.
Over the next few days Sam’s condition deteriorates and Bernard calls in a doctor to examine him. The doctor’s diagnosis is typhoid and warns Bernard that Sam might have to be given a fatal injection to avoid an epidemic. Bernard’s response is to take Sam to the Khoi village. When Bernard and Sam get to the village they find it deserted, but knowing they can’t return Bernard decides to settle down in one of the huts.
The next morning some of the Khoi warriors return to the village. Bernard is questioned by the chief and learns that the siege started to close in on Kimberley the previous day. The Khoi are about to leave our heroes when Bernard strikes a bargain. In return for medical help from the witch doctor, Tjombe and the Khoi’s help breaking the siege, Bernard promises to go back into Kimberley and get rifles and ammunition to arm the Khoi so they can start attacking the Boer. The chief agrees and leaves Bernard and Sam in the village with some medicine. Tjombe says the medicine will take ten days to work and that is when they will return.
On the tenth day the Khoi return and take Bernard and Sam, now fully restored, back to their temporary camp, a waterhole three hours walk away. Here they settle down and leave their horses before heading off on foot with the Khoi to go back into Kimberley to get the weapons. On the way they encounter a Boer camp, which they ambush and kill the Boer. The next morning the group move on to the siege lines and the following night during a thunderstorm they rush through a gap in the Boer defences during which Bernard gets shot in the arm. The next day they arrive back in Kimberley where Bernard and Sam are summoned to Hubbert-Brown’s office and told the Khoi are to be ejected from the town at nightfall. Bernard, having been rejected by the army then makes a visit to The Sanatorium, Rhodes’ house in Kimberley where Bernard asks Rhodes for rifles and ammunition. Rhodes agrees and Bernard draws the weapons from the De Beers’ stores. Bernard then expects Sam to follow him and the Khoi out of town. Sam then has a conflict of duty and he and Bernard have an argument. Bernard storms off and heads out of town with the Khoi. They stop by a spoil heap and are startled by a sound that turns out to be Sam catching the group up. Together once more the group head for the Khoi village. Bernard takes a few days for his wound to recover then the Khoi, Bernard and Sam start to attack the Boer.
The days turn into weeks and on December 10th Bernard and Sam head back to pick up supplies and news left by Martins, in the form of a letter, from the abandoned house owned by Olive Schreiner on the outskirts of Kimberley. The first month’s rations include a bottle of cognac courtesy of Cecil Rhodes. In the letter, Martins writes about the deteriorating conditions in the town and the rising death toll due to disease.
The next month they do not celebrate Christmas and New Year’s Eve is marked with a tot of Rhodes’ cognac. Ten days later they go to pick up supplies from Olive Schreiner’s house. The supplies are barely sufficient to last a week and Martins’ letter tells of how food is running so short that horses and pets are all being considered for slaughter.
On the February trip to Olive Schreiner’s house Bernard and Sam find nothing more than a letter from Martins. In it he tells how McLeish is close to death and that the horses and mules are being slaughtered for meat. Bernard’s conscience is pricked and he feels guilty that he might survive while his colleagues are due to perish so he talks to Sam and they agree that it would be better to die on the battlefield charging the enemy than succumbing to starvation or being tried as deserters and hung. The next day they leave the villagers and head round to the east of Kimberley to the Susanna redoubt where the Boer defences are strongest. They decide that a futile charge on the Boer position will send a message to the Boers and give them a swift death.
On 14th February Bernard and Sam hide up in a gully close to the Susanna redoubt and wake in the evening to finish of whatever food they have. Bernard remembers he still has the bottle of Rhodes’ cognac in his saddlebag and they spend the night before their attack reminiscing through a brandy haze.
The next morning they wake up with hangovers and question whether this is the best way to go to a certain death. Eventually they work themselves up into a whirlwind of patriotism and set off. No sooner have they left their position than they see what appears to be a sandstorm approaching them. It is the last great cavalry charge the British army ever made. 5000 men on horse charged the Kimberley siege from the southeast and Bernard and Sam join in. The siege is broken and the Boer forces start to retreat. In the process Bernard’s horse gets fatally injured and Bernard has to put her out of her misery. He does this by placing his tunic over her eyes and shooting her in the head twice with his pistol. Bernard then gets shot in the chest and reels back. Sam turns up and shoots the Boer who shot Bernard. Sam then looks to Bernard’s wounds and is surprised to see bullet holes, blood stains yet no injury. The Mamba Diamond took the force of the shot and has now been cleaved in half.
The battle dies down, the siege is broken and the victorious troops march into town. Bernard and Sam head for the barracks passing The Sanatorium where a great party is under way. Back in the austere surroundings of the barracks they meet Martins. They hear that McLeish died the night before from malnutrition. As evening falls, the relief column arrives from the south and with it supplies of food.
The relief and celebration is short lived for the following day Bernard and Sam are arrested and imprisoned, charged with desertion, neglect of duty and disobeying orders.
In a martial court a military lawyer is called a friend. Bernard and Sam’s friend is Martins. Martins knows little about military law but is determined to defend his friends as best he can.
The court is convened and the trial gets under way. The case for the defence hinges entirely on the fact that the commanding officer of the Third’s orders overrides those issued by Hubbert-Brown. The only way of substantiating this claim is with the Colonel speaking for the defence and he cannot be reached.
The court, hosted by Hubbert-Brown is about to pass the death sentence on Bernard and Sam when the Colonel arrives in court.
The book ends with Bernard and Sam being given orders in sealed envelopes and setting of on the first train out of Kimberley.
1
Snowflakes gently streamed from the leaden sky and drifted silently past the face of Captain Bernard Baker D.S.O. (retired); their whiteness stretching the daylight of the late December afternoon a little beyond sunset. He stood looking through the French windows to the grey twilight beyond and was grateful he was on the warm side of the glass. The winter of 1935 had already pulled a thick blanket over the back lawn of Brockenhurst Manor and it was getting thicker by the minute. He twitched his moustache and pulled the heavy maroon curtains together, shutting winter out from the rest of the lounge.
“Brrr! Damned filthy weather Sam! Set in for Christmas if I am not mistaken,” he said, rubbing his hands together and heading for the fire.
Sam had the Christmas tree lights laid out in front of him on the Turkish rug and he was busy trying to find the faulty bulb. The lights had been packed away neatly last year and in perfect working order, but now they were not working and in a tangle; such are the mysteries of cupboards!
“Yes sah, filthy dirty weather but the kids love it don't they?” To avoid losing his place on the string of bulbs, he didn't look up.
Bernard stood with his back to the fire, rocking from heels to toes and back again like an animal eager to pounce. He was feeling hemmed in by the weather and it made him a little restless. He watched Sam, his old friend and former batman, as he patiently unscrewed one bulb, replaced it then moving on to the next one.
“Confounded things those lights, Sam. Do we have to have them?”
Sam was determined to get the confounded lights working and arranged on the tree even if it took him till Easter.
“Oh yes sah! Christmas ain't Christmas without a tree full of lights is it sah?”
Sam's sharp tone surprised Bernard and he was about to remonstrate when the lights flickered into life.
“That’s got 'em sah!”
A satisfied smile beamed across Sam's face.
“All I got to do now is get the bug… things on the tree.”
Bernard gave Sam a stern look.
“Yes, indeed. Then you should pour us both a warming toddy, something to frighten the chill off until dinner.”
Sam thought for a moment or two.
“How about a large port and brandy sah?”
Sam's emphasis on the word large indicated an agreeable way to dissolve away the rest of the afternoon; the idea alone brought a warm glow to Bernard's cheeks.
“Splendid Sam, splendid,” he said rubbing his hands together, eager to see the decorating make way for the toddies.
“So then, should I lend a hand in getting these pretty lights up?”
Bernard's practical help around the house and garden was rarely that, and Sam was used to fielding the offers.
“Well sah this really is just a one man job so, perhaps you could sort the drinks out?”
Bernard looked from the tree to the drinks cabinet and twitched his moustache a little nervously.
“Well, what a fabulous idea. I am sure that mixing port and brandy cannot be that difficult, so, why not.”
“That's the spirit sah.”
“Ha! Very funny Sam! Spirit, port, brandy, Christmas. Well done!”
Sam shook his head pitifully.
“Oh yes sah. Sometimes I just don't know how I manage it.”
The sarcasm was lost on Bernard, as he was engrossed in the array of crystal decanters in the drinks cabinet. With a little effort, he selected a pair of the larger whiskey tumblers and poured into each a generous measure of both port and then another of brandy. By the time Bernard returned to the tree, Sam was on a chair attaching the last couple of lights.
“There you go Sam, get that down you.”
Sam got off the chair and took the glass.
“Thank you sah. Best of health.”
They took sips from their glasses and quietly admired the lights.
“Just the baubles and the star to go and she'll be ready for your knees up tomorrow evening sah.”
“Sam, it is not a 'knees up', it is a Christmas party, do try and show some decorum please.”
“Sorry sah.”
Bernard hosted two social occasions each year, one on midsummer's night and the other just before Christmas. As many as he could invite from the village willingly turned up to eat cook's delicious food, and drink their way through the beer and wine that the host happily supplied. The great depression had taken its toll on the people of Brockenhurst and this year was the poorest all but the oldest could remember. As with the last three, Bernard had instructed cook to make far more pies than could be comfortably eaten in a night.
Charity is not easily accepted by the proud but meat pies and bottles of beer can be comfortably placed in deep pockets with no obvious loss of face. It also saved having to clear any mess away.
It smelled as though cook had just taken another tray of chicken and leek pies from the oven.
The lights on the tree winked out.
“Buggar me! I don’t believe that!” exclaimed Sam. He started towards the tree when Bernard called him back.
“Just leave them for a minute or two; come and take a seat on the Chesterfield.”
Sam settled back down on the creaky leather and they both supped on their drinks.
“Those pies don't half smell good sah.”
Bernard nodded.
“They certainly do Sam; damned lucky to have cook.” Sam nodded.
There was a reflective look in Bernard's eye that Sam knew all too well.
“We are very lucky to have as much food and drink as we could want this Christmas Sam. Not to mention the warm fire and those confounded lights. We are in a far better position than a great many people.”
Sam nodded, the port and brandy was bringing a rosy shine to his cheeks. Bernard went on.
“It was not always like this was it?”
Sam spotted the familiar introduction to one of Bernard's reminiscences. He stood up, retrieved the port and brandy decanters and placed them on the low oak table, within comfortable reach.
“Do you remember the Christmas of '99 old boy?”
“How could I forget that one eh sah?”
Sam pulled the stopper on the brandy decanter and raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“Why not Sam, indeed, just a large one thanks. Yes, now, it was the siege of Kimberley of course; Boers, diamonds, rats of all types and that arrogant loudmouth Sir Cecil Rhodes.”
“Fair's fair sah, it was his mining town after all so he did have reason to have some say about what was going on.”
“Well yes Sam up to a point of course but the British army was there to protect British and Empire interests, not just his!”
“They was much the same thing at the time weren’t they sah?”
“And that was precisely why Rhodes had to be taken down a peg or two. Where would the Britain be if we allowed an arrogant upstart like him to dictate to His Majesty’s government?”
“Germany sah?”
Bernard frowned then took another swig from his glass before carrying on.
“Now, correct me if I am wrong but it was it was late August when we set sail for the Cape.”
Sam topped his own glass up, pulled the drinks a little closer to the Chesterfield and sunk back into the leather and sighed.
“I remember it like it was only yesterday sah.”
It was going to be a long afternoon.
2
Monday the 28th of August 1899 was starting to look as though it would turn into a lovely hot summer's day. There was a clear blue sky and just the slightest breeze to take the cool of the night away. I was enjoying it along with the rest of the regiment milling around on the quay at Marchwood Naval dockyard.
It was far too nice to go off on a tour of duty. But here we all were, packed for the Northwest frontier of India and busy chatting amongst ourselves, waiting to go on board.
Moored at the dock beside us, and partially obscuring the early morning sun was the proud and familiar profile of the SS Bridgewater; her twin scarlet and black funnels fuming gently as her boilers built up a head of steam. The British Army likes to march and ride on a full stomach and her hold was being provisioned with the requirements of the men and our horses.
I was chatting with Martins when Sam came ambling up to us. A full year of service and discipline in Her Majesty's army had yet to make much of an impact on him. With his uniform freshly laundered and buttoned correctly for once, Sam still managed to make a three pound and ten shilling uniform look like sixpence worth of rags. His hair was in its usual overgrown state and his sideburns were once more longer than regulations allowed. It never ceased to amaze me that this scruffy urchin could keep my own wardrobe neater than any other officer in the regiment. When putting a final polish to my boots, he would invariably have a matching tan to his own skin. When cleaning the brass on my dress uniforms, Sam would always end up covered with blotches of dried polish.
What was even more extraordinary was the way that the proprietary cleaners would wash from him as if they were no more than substantial than morning mist; it was as is if his skin simply rejected the chemicals.
Sam saluted and stamped his feet to attention. One last crease dropped and his uniform came to a full stop.
“Morning sah.”
“Ah Sam, good morning,” I gave him a brief visual inspection, “your hair is a bit untidy old chap.”
Sam tried to look up and did his best to stroke it back down. It refused and stood up almost immediately in coils.
“Sorry sah, you know what it’s like sah, got a mind of its own. I do tries me best I really do.”
“Yes, yes Sam I know you do.”
The sight of Sam attempting to tame his uncooperative pelt amused my fellow officer.
“Just came to let you know that I've managed to get our bags on board sah.”
“Well done Sam. What cabin are we in?”
“We're on B deck again sah, number 34.”
“Port side?”
“Yessah.”
“Excellent. Very well, I shall be along presently.”
Sam assembled all the parts of a salute together then wheeled unsteadily around on his left foot and marched off.
“I say Baker?”
I turned to face the meagre profile of Martins.
“Yes Martins?”
“When are you going to replace that creature with someone who can dress properly and march in a straight line?”
Martins had developed a dislike for Sam, one that was unjustified and upset me.
“When he decides to leave the service, I would imagine. Why do you ask?”
Martins looked surprised that I had asked the question.
“Good grief man. You just have to look at him. Scruffy, untidy and hardly any self-discipline.”
“Martins; he may not carry a uniform at all well, but that man saved my life in the Sudan and he is devilishly handy in a tight spot. He has his faults, as we all do, but I would be considerably happier going into battle knowing that he was at my side; I would have a clean niform for one thing.”
Martins had also seen action at Khartoum. He had put in a spirited performance of his own and had come away unscathed, neither Sam nor I had been quite so lucky. I stroked the scar on the side of my head.
“Ah yes of course; I was forgetting all that, Baker. I apologise.”
I bowed my head slightly.
“Apology accepted.”
The imposing figure of Andrew McLeish, the newest second lieutenant, came bounding over like a giant enthusiastic puppy, his kilt swinging back and forth like a cloth church bell. He clapped his hands together.
“Come on lads, let's see if we cannae rustle up a spot of porridge somewhere.”
Martins turned and looked up at him.
“Good God McLeish, don't you ever stop thinking about your stomach?”
The friendly criticism was welcomed with a smile.
“Ach well, ye might as well stop living as stop takin' an interest in your food.”
I twitched my moustache.
“Well I am a little peckish I have to admit,” I said, “and it looks to be a while before we are scheduled to leave, so why not. Martins?”
“Why not indeed. Although I am a bit nervous about being seen with McLeish in his dress.”
McLeish took exception to Martins comment and swung round, pointing a finger at Martins' nose.
“You make one more comment about ma kilt or ma tartan and, I swear, I'll rip your ears off and shove 'em so far down your throat ye'll hear them being digested!”
McLeish towered over Martins as he towered over most people, his chin jutting out at an aggressive angle.
“Martins, I think you had better apologise to McLeish here,” I said.
Martins looked decidedly uncomfortable but not at the point of apology.
“Now, look here McLeish, you seem to have got hold of the wrong end of the stick. There is no reason to get all worked up and threaten people.”
“Threaten? I wisnae threatening; I was just letting yoo know what would happen.”
“Alright McLeish that's enough of that sort of talk! That might be perfectly acceptable behaviour in a bar in the east end of Glasgow but you are an officer in the Third so behave like one. Now apologise.”
“He was…!”
I held up a hand.
“Do you want to be on a charge McLeish?”
McLeish shook his head.
“Well?”
If the look on McLeish's face was any yard stick then he was having to swallow a very bitter pill indeed.
“Sorry Martins.”
“Thank you.”
I sighed.
“I think you are getting dress, as in an item of lady's clothing, confused with dress as in how to wear clothes, which I am sure was what Martins was saying. Is that not correct Martins?”
“Well yes of course it is.”
“Oh aye. You'd better be right aboot tha'.”
“There you see, simple misunderstanding,” I said, “now come on you two, I feel the need for kedgeree this morning; best thing before a sea voyage.”
We all sauntered off and found the mess hall. The breakfast choice was a bit thin. McLeish got most upset when he discovered that porridge was not on the menu, so, by way of compensation he chose four rashers of bacon, three sausages, a small mountain of scrambled eggs, most of a black pudding, a pile of mushrooms, another of fried potatoes, three slices of toast and marmalade and two mugs of tea.
Martins settled for a boiled egg and buttered toast while I was happy that a plate of kedgeree would be sufficient for my own needs.
It was some time before McLeish managed to wipe the last vestiges of his meal from the plate with a swab of bread. Both Martins and I had finished our own meals and were now happy to see an end to the unsavoury spectacle of the big Scotsman feeding himself.
With a satisfied gulp from the second mug, he sat back and took his ease.
“Tha's better, ther’s nae better than a solid breakfast to start the day.”
“You appear to have made up for the lack of porridge?” I said with a slight hint of irony. He nodded, then suddenly leaned forward, raising one eyebrow.
“Do ye think it's too late to put an order in for some oats, sirr?”
“For porridge do you mean?”
He nodded again.
“I suspect so.”
He looked disappointed.
“You could always use horse oats I suppose,” suggested Martins.
McLeish gave him a fierce look.
“Are ye trying to be funny again Martins?”
“No; actually I am not. I thought I was making a sensible suggestion.”
McLeish sat back and thought for a few seconds.
“Aye well I suppose ye could but it would be mighty tough on the teeth.”
A deep rumble from the Bridgewater's horn sprung us into life and we strode off to the ship.
Although twenty-two years old, back on board I was once more filled with the boyish thrill of setting off on a voyage and waited with rising impatience for the ropes to be cast off. Most of the railing was already occupied by men. We were all keen for voyage and adventure but we knew this would be the last we would see of English soil for some time. I wandered towards the prow and found a little space for myself. I had only been there for a minute or two when Sam arrived and together we stood and watched the crew work to get the ship to sea.
“Saying goodbye to old Blighty again sah. I wonder how long for this time?”
I gave the question some mental calculation.
“Let's see now, three weeks out, six month tour of duty, another three weeks back, I should think our business will be complete by February or March.”
“Back in time for spring sah?”
“I would have thought so.”
“Good,” said Sam affirmatively.
“That sounded very positive Sam?”
“Yes sah. You remember the money we won off that traitor Blasford-Smythe?”
I nodded, how could I forget.
“Well sah with the half that you gave me, I bought a little bit of land for me mum and family and I'd like to see it planted for the first time.”
“Joining the landed gentry Sam? I am impressed Sam, congratulations!”
Sam seemed a little uncomfortable with the praise.
“Well it ain't so big as to call it an estate sah, just over three acre. But it will mean some fruit and vegetables that can be sold at Colchester market or pickled for the winter.”
Sam did not sound that pleased with his accomplishment.
“You should be proud. Now you will be able to provide for your family while you are away. Room for a couple of pigs too I’ll wager?”
“Yes sah. It's a start ain't it sah?”
The gangplanks were pulled on board and the access doors shut with a clang.
“One that I wholeheartedly approve of too.”
“Well If I hadn't had bought the land I'd only have wasted the money on loose women sah.”
I raised a disapproving eyebrow at the suggestion.
“Yes, well of course, I cannot condone that sort of behaviour. Did you not have a sweetheart at home, works in a public house?”
“Oh what, Mary, from the King's Arms?”
“Yes, Mary, that was the girl.”
“She wasn't really a sweetheart sah. Just what you might say was the sort of woman that was always happy to offer comfort and relief to the lonely.”
There was a distant, wistful look in Sam's eyes.
“Sounds like a very charming lady.”
“She gave a lot of herself to the men of Mistley.”
“A sort of mother figure?”
“Yes sah I suppose you could say that.”
“So what has become of her?”
“Got married to a bloke called Bob Pritchard and moved up to Ipswich three month ago.”
Sam shook his head.
“Great loss to the village that.”
A tug approached and a towrope was attached near to where we were standing; the order was given to cast off, and with the gentlest of movements, the nose of the Bridgewater edged away from the dock. The umbilical was cut, no longer were we a part of the mother country; we were bound once more for foreign lands, interesting food, action and adventure!
By late morning, the Isle of Wight slipped over the edge of the horizon and the swell of a deep sea had started to rise beneath us.
We had tired of the view, and returned to our cabin where we were finding places for the last pieces of kit.
“Sam?”
“Yes sah?”
“What do you know of Second Lieutenant McLeish?”
“Not much sah. He's a bit of a hothead, with a real vicious streak in him.”
“So I witnessed this morning. Was he assigned straight to the Third?”
“No sah. He had a bit of a history with the Gordon Highlanders sah. Joined up from a workhouse in Glasgow, only fifteen at the time, and managed to get himself a commission after five years in the service. He's a lifer sah.”
I picked a tie and started to put it on.
“That is an unusual record Sam.”
“It is sah but then it was his fighting what got him the commission.”
“I see,” I said adjusting the knot in the mirror, “do you know what he did to get his promotion?”
“They say that when he ran out of ammo at Khartoum, he started beating the Dervish with his rifle butt; when he broke that, he carried on with his bare hands.”
“Not his bayonet?”
“No sah, he'd already lost that in a camel. Did 'em with his bare hands. Got the red mist in him and just went about the field grabbing hold of any he could and twisting their necks until they snapped, just like chickens. Earned him the respect of his C.O., so he got sent up for officer training. I reckon he's one of them untouchables you hear about.”
“Ye Gods Sam. The man sounds more like a killing machine!”
“Well, he's driven ain't he?”
“What by?”
“He's an orphan sah, an outcast. He's looking to be accepted ain't he? Means he's got to be more of a man than the rest of us don't it?”
Sam had made a shrewd observation.
“I fear that Second Lieutenant Martins does not share your opinion and I suspect we shall see problems between those two.”
“What grief does Martins have with McLeish sah?”
I sat down on the one chair in the cabin.
“I suspect, McLeish coming from the working classes and the fact that he is Scottish.”
“What's wrong with being Scottish sah?”
“In Martins' eyes nothing, as long as you speak with an accent picked up at Oxford or Cambridge.”
“That's a bit silly ain't it sah. You're from a better class than me but it don't stop me being a better shot than you does it sah? And let's face it a shell from an enemy gun is going to spread you all over the battlefield like jam and not worry a fig about class, ain't it sah?”
“You are absolutely right Sam; but Martins comes from a line less enlightened than you or I. One that would like to see Hadrian's Wall rebuilt and doubled in height. Pass me the newspaper, would you.”
That afternoon, the regiment was called to the ballroom. The colonel was standing on an upturned orange box on the orchestra platform and waited, beady-eyed until we had all filed in and were ready.
“AH-HEM!”
It was the cough of authority and we all hushed up. The colonel turned to his aide de camp and swapped the megaphone for his swagger stick.
“Welcome aboard men. Good to see so many familiar faces among you, and a few not so familiar. I have no doubt that, in the fullness of time, I shall get to know you all. Right then. Now, I know you were all told that we were off for a little jolly to India, but I am afraid I had to hoodwink you on that one.”
A ripple of disapproval ran through the men. The colonel held up a hand.
“Alright, calm down… Now, the thing is, the filthy stinking Boers, or filthy stinking Afrikaners if you want to be nice about them, are getting very uppity and something has to be done about them. As you know, the Third was my own innovation. We are not quite as regular as the rest of the regular bloody army, are we men?”
There was a general agreement on that point.
“No, that's right, I am proud to say that we are quite irregular; and that is precisely why we have been selected for this job. Now - we cannot be seen to be going to reinforce the men that are already in the Cape so we have to do it as quietly as possible, which is why less than a half of the regiment is here, just over seven hundred of you.”
The colonel clasped his swagger stick behind his back and started to slowly march up and down the platform.
“Now - I am more than aware that our dear Queen chose a German husband who was, I am reliably informed, quite a nice fellow for a German that is. After all, he did spend a long time in England and actually enjoyed a cup of strong tea in the afternoon without the urge to stuff some repulsive sausage and stewed cabbage down his gullet after it! Unfortunately, his former compatriots are not so trustworthy. Now – we have known for some time that the German army has been supplying the filthy stinking Boers with weapons and training their officers and men too. As revolting as the Dutch farmers are, they can only field a small army, fifty thousand at most, which of course is not much more than the Dervish managed to put against us last year in the Sudan. And you know what we did to them!”
The room filled with proud smiles.
“That's right; spread 'em all over the bloody desert like bloody jam, didn’t we!”
The colonel held his hand up again and waited for the murmuring to die down.
“If I am not mistaken, the filthy stinking Boer will be an altogether different kettle of fish to fry. They will all be well equipped, well trained and most importantly, on familiar territory. They are cunning, so cunning iin fact you could paint them red and call them foxes.
These qualities are advantages that appear to be lost on the rest of the commanders in the British Army and ones that make the filthy stinking Boers much more of an enemy than the Dervish rabble.”
The colonel let the information sink in and reinforced it with a hard stare at the assembly of men.
“As you are all undoubtedly aware, the Cape Colony is the brightest jewel in the empire crown, pumping gold, diamonds and all sorts of mineral wealth into the coffers of the Bank of England. This is a state of affairs that Her Majesty is keen to see continue!”
Low chuckling ran around the room. The colonel held up his swagger stick and the noise quelled.
“Now - the official line is that the filthy stinking Boers will not accept the abolition of slavery and we are going to make damned sure that they do. When we disembark in the Cape, you will be broken up into small groups that will reccy Boer strengths and positions around the colony and report back on a regular basis to me in Cape Town. Now - I know that you don't see yourselves as scouts and rightly so; but this work is of the utmost importance. If I am right, and I usually am, fifty thousand British and Empire troops will be converging on the colony by the end of the year and the high command will need that information like a fish needs water. When the time comes for showing the filthy stinking Boers who's in charge, you will get your chance. You have my word on it.”
The murmuring started again, and the colonel raised a hand.
“Thank… you… men, thank you. Now – any questions?”
A hand went up near the front.
“How are going to get about sir?”
“Ah well that's an interesting question. Now the Cape Colony is a bloody great big place, about the size of France, Spain and Portugal put together. Now – our engineers have put in railways to the major towns of course but, other than that, you will have to rely on your horses to transport you. Another question? Yes, You.”
“What's the lie of the land like sir?”
“Glad you asked that. In the most part hilly, rolling moor land, not unlike Scotland but with better weather; and in other parts as flat and barren as a billiard table. Now then, just a note about the journey down to the Cape; we will make one stop for supplies at St Thomas. For those of you, and I include myself in this group, who have never heard of St Thomas, I am reliably informed that they are a series of small islands off the coast of the French Congo and lie almost slap bang on the equator. Right then men, until we moor in the town of St Thomas, have a pleasant trip.”
With that, the colonel, closely followed by his aide de camp, left the platform and the room.
I turned to Sam.
“Well Sam that has come as a surprise I must say.”
Sam gave me a slightly withering look.
“Sah?”
“You do not agree with me?”
“We've been issued with light woollen serge uniforms sah; no good for India, you'd catch your death of cold in no time. If you don't mind I'll go and get a cup of tea.”
Stunned by Sam's insight I stood and watched him saunter off in the direction of the mess, whistling.
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