SISTER’S DAY OFF.
There once was a Sister called Baker,
Of beds she’s an excellent maker;
She knows temperatures, too,
And, between me and you,
Is of medicines an excellent shaker.
She knows each man’s vice—how to treat it,
And warns Sister H. how to meet it:
“Number Two you can trust,
But show T. a crust,
Well, it’s a thousand to one he’ll eat it.”
She dilates on the treatment we need,
All our habits, our drinks, our feed:
“I repeat, Mr. T....
Doesn’t realise all, but
He cannot be trusted for greed.”
“Mr. N., however is wise,
At the sight of eggs hard boiled he sighs,
But eschew them I must,
And that beautiful crust,
For on me Sister Baker relies.”
You may ask how we know what was said.
The culprit there lying in bed,
Overheard in the dark,
The whispered remark,
And tears of hot anger he shed.
The moral is not far to seek,
A crust perforates you when weak,
While eavesdropping at night
Is really not right,
For its apt to raise anger and pique.
During the siege of Kimberley, a certain colonel said one night at mess: “Gentlemen, I am sorry to say we were only able to draw half our ration in beef to-day; this joint I am carving is beef, at the other end of the table the joint is horse; if anyone would prefer to try it, perhaps he will carve for himself.” No one got up, so the colonel had to carve small helpings of beef for all the mess. After they had finished an orderly came and whispered to him, after which the colonel said: “Oh, gentlemen, I am sorry to find I have made a mistake; I find this was the horse, and the cow is still at the other end of the table!”
Shortly after his arrival at the Diamond Fields, the late Mr. B. I. Barnato went into partnership with Mr. Louis Cohen. They shared a hut together, and, as both were poor, they experienced many hardships. Many years after, when Mr. Barnato was at the height of his fame, he said to Mr. Cohen: “Lou, I will forgive you everything we have ever differed upon, except one.”
“What is that?”
“Why, when we slept in that hut, you used to pull our only blanket off me every night, and I was too much afraid of you to even tell you of it.”
A certain town was, during the war, placed under martial law, and no one could do anything without getting a permit from the military authorities. One day in December the Provost was surprised by a little girl coming into his office and saying: “Please, sir, may I have a permit for Santa Claus to come to our house?”
It is well known that during the war feeling amongst the Boer women was even more intense than amongst the men. One Boer woman was heard to urge her husband to go and fight, saying: “I can get another husband, but I can’t get another Free State.”
During the late war, a certain “Tommy” was desirous of possessing a bullet-riddled helmet to show to his friends at home, so he started firing from behind a big boulder on which he placed his helmet. Of course, the helmet at once became the target for Boer bullets. Unfortunately, not one touched the helmet, but one bullet hit the owner of the helmet on the shoulder. “Tommy” thereupon removed the helmet from its exposed position, and, with a look at his injured shoulder, remarked: “That comes of cursed pride and nothing else.”
A Free Stater, captured during the war, tried to impress his captor by declaring that he was a Field Cornet. “I don’t care if you are a field big drum,” was the reply.
A certain Canadian trooper who came out here during the war was not favourably impressed with South Africa. “If I owned Satandom and South Africa,” said he, “I would rent out South Africa and live in Satandom.”
Shortly after the occupation of Bloemfontein by Lord Roberts’s army, Mr. Kipling visited the Free State capital. One morning at his hotel a stranger came up to him and said: “Is it possible that I have the honour to meet the author of ‘The Absent-Minded Beggar’?” “Yes,” replied Mr. Kipling, “I have heard that piece played on a barrel-organ, and I would shoot the man who wrote it if it would not be suicide.”
In one of the cavalry fights in the late war, a lancer was about to attack an old Boer, when the latter cried out: “Moe nie! moe nie!” (Don’t, don’t). The lancer, however, not being conversant with the taal, replied: “I don’t want your money, I want your life.”
The Officer Commanding the troops at Modder River issue an order prohibiting men from bathing in the river, and a flying sentry was stationed there to see that the order was not disobeyed. Noticing someone in the river, the sentry unceremoniously asked him to “clear out,” whereupon the bather, who happened to be an officer in the Guards, approached the bank in all his nakedness, and indignantly asked the man: “Can’t you see I am an officer?”
Mr. Barnato was one of the first on the Diamond Fields to realise that the blue ground was far richer than the yellow surface ground, although an opinion to the contrary was held by the majority of the diggers. In connection with this matter (says his biographer, Mr. Harry Raymond), Mr. Barnato used to tell the following story:—
“There was one man who, from the time I first began to know anything of the mines, I envied. He had some of the best placed claims in Kimberley and did splendidly until he got through the yellow ground and struck the blue ground, the bedrock as most people believed it to be. He was a clever man and sharp—perhaps some people would call him ‘sharper’—so he obliged a friend by finding a dumping ground in his claims for some worthless yellow. He then sold his claims for whatever he could get—four hundred pounds, I think it was—and cleared before the expected storm could burst on his head. But these claims were among the first to prove that the blue was the true diamond ground, and he could not have bought them back for forty thousand pounds. The man is still living, and very poor, after a life’s hard work; but, Oh! he was so clever and so sharp! What? You suppose that I bought those claims for the four hundred pounds? No, I am sorry to say I never had the chance. I knew that the blue had been reached there, that the yellow ground had been dumped in to cover up, and I wondered what was coming next. The acts of an able man can be foreseen when his surroundings are known, but who can fathom the folly of a fool? I would have given eight thousand pounds for those claims, and they went to a new comer for four hundred pounds!”
An actor who visited the Rand in the early days relates the following anecdote:—
“As we came to Johannesburg from Kimberley by coach, we met the returning coach at some miserable stopping place with an unpronouncable name, and found it crowded with Lionel Brough and his company. We fraternised, of course, at once, and amongst the questions asked and answered as to prospects of business, theatre accommodation, etc., we learnt that Brough had with him a quantity of scenery and props which he did not want, but had been unable to sell at Johannesburg. At that moment Mr. “Barney” Barnato drove up on his way back to Kimberley, and at once joined us. He was always a good friend to the profession, and out there with the heavy travelling expenses between the mining camps, the hard work, and the other uncertainties, we often wanted such a friend then. When he heard of the scenery, he said: ‘Come on, Brough, I’ll put it up to auction.’ We all adjourned to the open veld, all the cloths and props were spread out to view, and the sale commenced. It was one of the most amusing things I ever saw. Barnato made of it a monologue, in the style of Charles Mathews, even to that ‘now let me get a word in edgeways’ in ‘My Awful Dad,’ and bought in everything himself. We all enjoyed the joke tremendously, but, to our great surprise, he paid Brough the really good prices at which he had knocked the lots down, and made them a present to us in the most kind manner at the very last moment as he drove away. Many a professional has been indebted to Barnato for personal kindness that the world will never know of.”
South Africans will no doubt be highly amused at the following incident, related by Madame Albani in her book, “Forty Years of Song”:—
“I visited the famous diamond mines at Kimberley, and here I had an interesting experience. The Zulu miners gave me a very cordial reception, and after they had indulged in some native dances for my entertainment, one of them came up and said: ‘Lady, please sing.’ A chair was brought, and there, in the middle of the compound, with the Zulus squatting all round me, I sang “Home, Sweet Home.” At the end the Zulus applauded uproariously, and accompanied me to the gate, dancing and shouting like madmen. It was a most curious scene, and very impressive.”
The following message was received by the Officer Commanding Caesar’s Camp from the Chief of Staff:—“The General Officer Commanding has left to visit you via Wagon Hill. He intends to resume former position as soon as dead and wounded are buried, but will strengthen Caesar’s Camp by Rifle Brigade.”
Until the last Mr. Rhodes held the opinion that there would be no war. It was on account of this that his brother, Colonel Frank Rhodes, sent the following message to him on Christmas Day, 1899, when Mr. Rhodes was amongst the besieged in Kimberley:—“Happy Christmas! How thoroughly you misunderstood the situation!”
During the military operations in connection with the siege of Ladysmith, a letter was found on a captured Boer prisoner—apparently from a daughter in Ladysmith—which contained the following:—
PROGRAMME.
SIEGE THEATRE OF VARIETIES,
LADYSMITH.
Second Grand Promenade Concert.
Under the auspices of the Naval Volunteers,
Tuesday, December 25th, 1899.
Under the Booming Patronage and in the
presence of
“SILENT SUE.”
“BULWAN BILL.” “POM POM.”
“WEARY WILLIE.”
And others who, since last concert—through
circumstances over which they
had no control—are unable to take an
active part.
Concert to commence at 7.45 p.m.
Bunny Holes at 9.45.
One morning, when going along to a race meeting, the late Mr. Barnato struck up an acquaintance with a man at the starting station, had a drink with him, and then in the crush for the train they were separated. He got into a carriage with three of the “sharp” fraternity, who marked him for their own. Arrived at their destination, his first acquaintance saw the party get out of the carriage, and, coming hastily up to one of them, said:—“Here, you leave him alone; he is my bird.”
“Oh! he is, is he?” was the rejoinder. “Well, you are welcome to him, for he got all our money.” Before reaching the course, Barnato returned the sharps their money, saying: “Here, it is bad enough for you chaps to have lost your railway fare. I don’t want your money, but don’t mark Barney Barnato down for a mug again.”
In the early days of the Diamond Fields, when the evils resulting from an uncontrolled supply of liquor to natives were rampant, the following lines appeared in a Kimberley paper:
The best of all methods, so others maintain,
To free them from ignorance’s yoke,
And enable them civilised freedom to gain,
Is simply to give them Cape Smoke;
When mixed with tobacco, red pepper and lime,
With dagga and vitriol, too,
The draught is delicious, enchanting, sublime,
Why, it even would civilise you:
In order to evade the I.D.B. Laws, it was the custom among the buyers in Kimberley to give a “reward” of 25 per cent. to their native servants for each diamond they brought as a reputed find while working, “which,” as Dr. J. W. Matthews says in his book, “Incwadi Yami,” “was, of course, merely another mode of buying from natives without fear of detection.” This custom gave rise to the following lines, which appeared in a Kimberley paper some forty years ago:—
I would not be a digger. No,
Nor yet an I.D.B.
In digging oft your moneys go,
The other’s felony.
But then, upon the other hand,
I should be quite content
If I only was a nigger, and
Got 25 per cent.
I’d not be a shareholder, or
Hold Atlas’s or Frere’s;
I am not even pining for
The scrip of great De Beer’s.
In Kimberley the debts expand,
The loan, it isn’t lent;
So I’d rather be a nigger, and
Get 25 per cent.
I would not be a Chairman, or
Director of a Board,
For then I could not buy nice pipes,
Nor good Cape Smoke afford;
I might get nasty writs perhaps
When all my coin was spent:
I’d rather be a nigger, and
Get 25 per cent.
I wouldn’t be a Searcher, and
I wouldn’t be the Chief;
I wouldn’t hold the contract for
Removal of the reef;
I wouldn’t be Izdebski, and
I wouldn’t crime prevent;
I’d rather be a nigger, and
Get 25 per cent.
I wouldn’t be a Secretary
nor a Manager,
To be a toiling Overseer
I’d very much demur;
I wouldn’t build a crusher,
Nor such paltry things prevent;
I’d rather be a nigger, and
Get 25 per cent.
I wouldn’t be proprietor
Of far-famed Kamfer’s Dam,
Nor even Chairman of the French,
For all’s not real jam.
I’d scarcely purchase Centrals,
But I never would repent
If only I was a nigger, and
Got 25 per cent.
I would not be an Hemporor,
I wouldn’t be a King,
I wouldn’t be a Hadmiral,
Or hany sich a thing;
I wouldn’t be in Lowe’s Police
And live inside a tent;
I’d rather be a nigger, and
Get 25 per cent.
In 1882, on account of the proximity of the Free State border to the Diamond Fields, a very stringent law was passed in that State to suppress illicit diamond buying. The judges, however, interpreted the law not to extend beyond six miles from proclaimed diamond diggings. This inspired a local poet to write as follows:—
Over the Free State line
Whatever is yours is mine.
If I’ve a stone,
It’s all my own,
No John Fry shall make me groan
Over the Free State line,
I’ll never have cause to pine,
The I.D.B. is happy and free
Over the Free State line.
In the early days of the Diamond Fields when many made fortunes by illicit diamond buying, the following song was most popular in the Kimberley music-halls:—
I’m shortly about to retire,
Then to Flo, of course, I’ll be wed,
I shall do the thing fine, buy shares in a mine,
Or else float a company instead.
I’ll, of course, have a carriage and pair,
And later I shall not despair,
In the council I’ll get, and if you wait a bit,
No doubt you will see me made mayor.
The feeling of indignation which the retrocession of the Transvaal, after the defeat at Majuba, gave rise amongst the British colonists found expression in the following notice, posted up outside a hotel in Ladysmith:—
Sacred to the Memory of
HONOUR,
The beloved wife of John Bull.
She died in the Transvaal, and was
buried at Candahar, March, 1881.
Her end was PEACE.
A farmer called at a certain magistrate’s office to ask for a permit to move cattle. Whilst the permit was being written out the farmer sat down in the office and began to expectorate upon the floor. “Dirty beast!” muttered the official. “Nie, nie,” interposed the farmer, “nie, dertig beeste nie, maar twentig.” (No, no, not thirty cattle, only twenty.)
When Cecil Rhodes died there were some friends of Sir Abe Bailey who declared that the mantle of Rhodes had descended to Abe Bailey. About this time, Mr. Samuel Marks met Sir Abe Bailey and said to him: “What’s this I hear about you having taken over Rhodes’s mantle?” “Well,” replied Sir Abe, “they are good enough to say so.” “Take my advice, then,” replied Mr. Marks, “and leave it alone. I’ve dealt in old clothes myself, and know they don’t always fit.”
At Stellenbosch everybody sleeps in the afternoon. Many years ago a Stellenbosch burgher consulted his physician for insomnia. “At what hour of the night do you suffer most?” asked the doctor. “Oh, it is not in the night that I suffer,” was the reply. “I sleep well at night; but I sometimes find it difficult to get my full afternoon’s sleep.”
An amusing incident is related by Sir Henry Juta, K.C., arising out of the similarity of the Dutch word “keuken,” meaning kitchen, and the Afrikaans word “kuiken,” meaning chicken. Sir Henry and some other barristers were on circuit, and were dining at a Dutch farm house. The hostess apologised for the dinner not being all that it should have been owing to something having gone wrong with the culinary department. Sir Henry said to her:—“Het spijt mij, mevrouw, te hooren dat daar iets met de keuken makeert.” (“I am sorry to hear, madam, that there is something wrong with the ‘keuken’ (kitchen).” The lady folded her arms and drew herself up, and said, coldly:—“Nie, meneer Juta, met die kuikens makeer daar nix nie.” (“No, Mr. Juta, there is nothing wrong with the chickens.”) Apparently chickens formed part of the menu.
Sir Theophilus Shepstone related the following story. In 1835, Colonel—afterwards Sir Harry—Smith, when commanding the troops in Grahamstown, always read part of the service on Sunday morning, and was so particular that all should come that he imposed a fine of half-a-crown on every absentee. He read extremely well, and was very proud of it. One Sunday a dog came into the room where the service was going on and began to create a disturbance. Colonel Smith stood it for a little while; then, in the middle of a prayer, said suddenly: “Take that d——d dog away,” after which he continued his prayer in the same tone as before.
In the early fifties, when Lord Grey was Secretary of State for the Colonies, the unpopularity of his policy amongst all sections in South Africa gave rise to the following epigram:—
This point was long disputed at the Cape,
What was the devil’s colour and his shape.
The Hottentots, of course, declared him white;
The Englishman pronounced him black as night.
But now they split the difference, and say,
Beyond all question that Old Nick is Grey.
Once President Kruger was one of a party amongst whom a competition arose as to who could tell the tallest yarn. This is the yarn the President related:—“I was outspanned with my wife and family by the banks of a river, when some elephants came down in the cool of the evening to drink. One of them, while engaged in quenching his thirst, had his trunk seized by a crocodile. The sagacious animal immediately withdrew from the water, the crocodile maintaining its hold. Two other elephants belonging to the troop formed up, the one on the right, the other on the left of the attacked animal, and proceeded until they came to a spot where two trees had grown close together. The one elephant then pulled the nearest tree towards him, and his fellow, the parallel one, while the wounded animal deposited the crocodile between the trunks. The trees swung together, causing the crocodile to release its hold, and it was left to do the best it could for itself.”
When the President had told his tale, another of the party gave the following shooting yarn:—The family were on trek and had been very unfortunate in the pursuit of game, which was scarce. They were without meat, and the father decided to have a look round for himself. The shades of evening were falling when he secured a fat buck, and promptly returned home. Amid the murmurs of congratulation from the others were naturally many enquiries as to how he had shot it. He explained that the buck was just going over a rise into a dip, when he fired and bowled it over. To his surprise, he found that the bullet had entered the hoof, passed right through the leg, then through the back and head, and emerged at the right eye. The President had to admit that his tale had been fairly capped.
In the early days of the Rand Gold Fields the Transvaal Government generously granted four stands to each of the various Christian denominations for the erection of places of worship. The Jewish community, however, received only two stands. At this the Jews felt aggrieved, and a deputation was sent to Pretoria to interview President Kruger with a view to getting the grievance removed. The President listened attentively to the deputation, then shook his head and said:—“No, I don’t think you have a legitimate grievance. You see, you only believe in half the Bible, so it is only right you should have half the number of stands. When you accept the other half of the Bible, I shall be glad to let you have two more stands.”
When Sir Thomas Upington was practising at the Bar, he came into Court one day during the progress of a cattle-stealing case. The skins of the stolen cattle had all been produced in Court, and as they were several weeks old it made the atmosphere of the Court rather stuffy. Sir Thomas sniffed a bit and then said, sotto voce: “I suppose its all those rotten judgments.”
Sir Henry Juta (“Reminiscences of the Western Circuit”) says that the following incident actually happened. A girl married a rich farmer, who died some six months after, and as the couple had been married in community of property, she was left a wealthy widow. According to the usual practice, she was present at his funeral, and as they were returning from the graveside a former admirer approached her and proposed that they should make one flock of their sheep and goats, i.e., marry. The fair widow replied with much feeling:—“Dit spijt, mij Jan, maar toe ons naar de begrafenis gegaan het ik het ver Piet Potgieter mij jaawoord gegee.” (“I am sorry, John, but as we went to the funeral I gave my promise (literally, yes-word) to Piet Potgieter.”) Sir Henry Juta adds that this story, like so many others, has been subjected to emendation. It now runs that the executor of her husband’s estate proposed to her when returning from the funeral, and the widow replied that going to it she had become engaged to the undertaker.
Many years ago a certain farmer in the Cape Colony engaged an overseer. The latter was an excellent worker, but was more intimate with the farmer’s wife than the farmer thought proper, having often found them sitting together on the sofa. The farmer then went to the magistrate for advice. “You should give your wife a good talking to,” advised the magistrate. The farmer only too well knew the futility of acting on this advice, and said so. “Well, then,” said the magistrate, “get rid of the overseer.” “That I can’t do,” objected the farmer, “because he is such a good worker.” A few weeks later the magistrate met the farmer again, and, noticing the happy expression on his countenance, remarked: “Ah, so you’ve got rid of the overseer.” “Nie,” replied the farmer, with a look of expressive contempt for the magistrate’s brains, “ik het de sofa verkoopt.” (“No, I have sold the sofa.”)
Two sons jointly inherited a farm from their father. They worked it together for some time, then a disagreement arose between them and they decided to divide the farm. They could not, however, agree as to the manner of division, and, after much argument, they decided to submit their case to the arbitration of President Kruger. The President listened attentively to all the points raised by each of the brothers, and then gave the following decision:—“You, Jan, the elder, shall divide the farm in two portions; and you, Piet, the younger, shall have the first choice as to which portion you will take.”
Transcriber’s Notes:
Obvious printers’, punctuation and spelling errors have been corrected silently.