I
continue the newspaper correspondent’s description of the events of Christmas
1899, during the Boer siege of Ladysmith:-
You may be sure that sick and
wounded at Intombi hospital were not forgotten in the midst of our wild
festivities. For them the morning train was laden with fruit, flowers, and such
delicacies as the resources of this beleaguered town can still furnish. There
are many unselfish people here who do not want to make money by selling things
at market prices, or to keep for their own use the dainties that might be nectar
to the lips of suffering soldiers. And there are officers also who have given
of their abundance so freely that they will have to be dependent on similar
generosity if the chances of war should number them among the sick or wounded.
I must guard myself against being misunderstood. The hospital patients at
Intombi Camp are not reduced to meagre fare yet, nor likely to be, but medical
comforts are not all that a sick man craves for, and the simplest gifts sent
from Ladysmith's store that day must have been like a ray of sunshine
brightening the lot of some poor fellow with the assurance that, though far
from home, he was still among friends who cared for him. Nor were the weakly
and the children who still remain in this town forgotten. Colonel Dartnell, a soldier
of wide experience, who commands the Field Force of Natal Police, and is
beloved by every man serving under him; Major Karri Davis, of the Imperial
Light Horse; Colonel Frank Rhodes, Lord Ava, and a few others got together the
materials for a great Christmas tree, to which all the little ones between
babyhood and their teens were invited. The Light Horse Major's long
imprisonment with his brother officer Sampson in Pretoria, far from embittering
him against humanity in general, has only made him more sympathetic with the
trials and sufferings of others; just as heavy fines and a death sentence
seemed to bring out the most lovable characteristics of Colonel Rhodes. It was Karri
Davis who bought up all the unbroken toys that were to be found in Ladysmith
shops; and the ready hands of ladies, who are always interested in such work,
decorated the Christmas trees or adorned the hall in which this gathering was
to be held with gay devices and hopeful mottoes. There were four trees. Round
their bases respectively ran the words, "Great Britain,"
"Australia," "Canada," and "South Africa," and above
them all the folds of the Union Jack were festooned. Contributors sent bon-bons
and crackers in such profusion that each tree bore a bewildering variety of
fruit. To avoid confusion in distributing prizes, these were numbered to
correspond with the tickets issued; and Santa Claus, who patronised the
ceremony, in a costume of snowy swansdown, that shed flakes wherever he walked,
was content to play his part in dumb show, while the children walked round
after him to receive the toys that were plucked for them, with many jests, by
Colonel Dartnell and his genial colleagues. Over two hundred children were there,
and many of
them so young that it seemed as
if the one precluded from attendance on the score of extreme youthfulness must
have been the siege baby, who was then only a few days old. Generals Sir George
White and Sir Archibald Hunter, with their aides-de-camp and many staff
officers, came to take part in the interesting scene.
Looking at the little ones as
they trooped through the hall, in their white finery, Sir George said he had no
idea that so many children remained in Ladysmith, and perhaps at that moment
his heart was heavy with a deeper sense of the responsibility thrust upon him.
But fortunately we have been spared the worst horrors of a bombardment. Though
Boer gunners have never hesitated, but rather preferred, to turn their fire on
the open town, with a probability of hitting some house in which were women and
children, none of the latter, and only two of the former, have been hit through
the whole siege. Mrs. Kennedy, to whose narrow escape I have already referred,
suffered so little bodily injury or nerve shock that she was present with her
children at the Christmas tree entertainment, and took the congratulations of
her friends quite coolly. After the children had gone home trees and trappings
were dismantled, and the hall cleared for dancing, which the young people of Ladysmith
and a few subalterns off duty kept up with much spirit until near midnight. In
days to come we may look back to our Christmas under siege in Ladysmith, and
think that after all we had not a very bad time.
At this moment, however, there is
probably nobody outside who envies our lot, or grudges us any enjoyment we may
manage to get out of it. Soldiers, at any rate, deserve every chance of
relaxation that can be found for them. There are several regiments of this force
that have been practically on outpost duty since the investment began, often
exposed torain-storms during the day, because they could not pitch even shelter
tents without drawing the enemy's fire on them. When the honours for this
campaign come to be distributed I hope the services of these regiments will not
be ignored.
And on 31st
December:
And so Christmas-tide was past,
and the New Year broke upon the beleaguered garrison. So great is the influence
of times and seasons that we may well believe that even in Ladysmith the first day
of 1900 brought a brighter ray of hope. But hope must yet for long be deferred,
and the daily round of tasks grow wearisome by repetition--the daily dole of
eked-out rations, the daily tale of bursting shells, were for many weeks, with
one day's startling break, to be the sole preoccupation of the defenders. The
enemy, even his first day of January, were not willing to leave the garrison in
doubt as to their presence, although, despite the possible touch of sarcasm,
there was a grim sort of friendliness in their reminder. It again took the form of
blind shells--this time fired from the Free State batteries inscribed
"Compliments of the Season." The sarcasm (writes Mr. Pearse) seems
the more pointed because we hear that the Boers believe us to be starving and
unable to hold out much longer. We should, at any rate, appreciate the good
wishes more if they were sent in another form. Shells, even without fuses or
powder-charges, are not quite harmless; and though these have done no damage so
far, there is always a chance that they may hit somebody when fired into the
heart of a town where people still carry on their customary occupations in
spite of bombardment.
I wanted
to give you a South African recipe for gingerbread – as you know, I like to add
a few gingerbreads to the archive at Christmas. The first that I came across
has a name that is now offensive and derogatory, but food history has its dark
side too, so I give it to you as it is. Kaffir (kafir) corn is not maize, but
is a type of sorghum:
Kafir Corn Gingerbread.
2 cupfuls Kafir corn meal 1 teaspoonful powdered cinnamon
2 ½ cupful sour milk or
buttermilk ½ teaspoonful powdered
cloves
1 teaspoonful salt 1¼ teaspoonfuls soda
2 tablespoonfuls butter ¾ cupful sugar
1 cupful wheat flour 1 egg
2 teaspoonfuls powdered ginger
Mix thoroughly the meal,
buttermilk, and salt in a double boiler, and cook over hot water one-half hour
or longer. Stir the butter into the mush while it is still warm. Sift together
the flour, spices, and soda. When the mush is cool combine all the ingredients.
Beat thoroughly and bake in a moderate oven in shallow iron pans.
Farmers’ Bulletin, US
Government Printing Office (1919)
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