Referring to grass, it is truly wonderful how inconspicuous our khaki is amidst rocks or grass. Riding along on Monday last I almost rode slap over some Guardsmen who were halted and lying or sitting in the grass. I only became aware of their presence when about ten yards from them. And they all want to get home again--
"'Ome, and friends so dear, Jennie, 'Anging round the yard, All the way from Fratton, Down to Portsmouth 'Ard."
Nearly every other sentence one hears out here begins with "When I get home----." Had one of the Guardsmen been inclined to assist me with a rhyme to the tune of "Mandalay," he might have sinned thuswise:
I'm learnin' 'ere in Afriky wot the bloomin' poet tells, If you've 'eard the song of "'Ome, sweet 'Ome," you won't 'eed nothin' else. No, you won't 'eed nothin' else But the English hills and dells, And the cosy house or cottage where the lovin' family dwells. On the road to London Town, Home of great and small renown, Where the bright lights gleam and glitter on the rich and on the poor. Oh! the lights of London Town, And the strollin' up and down, Where the fog rolls over everything and the mighty city's roar. Ship me home towards that city, where the best live with the worst, Where there are "Blue Ribbon" Armies, but a man _can_ quench a thirst.
This, by the way, might allude to Lord Roberts' order, by which all the bars are closed wherever the troops go. When I went into Pretoria not a bar was open.
"'E's rather down on drink Is Father Bobs."
It is quite on the cards that we may be disbanded soon. The war is generally regarded as almost over, and candidates for the Military Police Force, which is being organised for the Transvaal and Orange Free State, are being sought for amongst the various Yeomanry Companies out here, the conditions being an optional three months' service, ten shillings a day pay and all found. About fifty of our company have volunteered, and may go into Pretoria any day now. These fifty have been supplied with the best horses we have amongst us, and we have not many now, my horse "Juggernaut," being one of the horses which had to be handed to the future _slops_, as the candidates are now being disrespectfully termed. This being the case, my future movements will be in the manner called "a foot slog" behind the ox-waggons.