Читать книгу Maggie: My Life in the Camp - Maggie Jooste - Страница 10

The war arrives on our doorstep

This is not a history of the Anglo-Boer War. So much has already been written about that tragedy and I was then too young to realise how serious it all was. Now after 62 years I cannot tell the story in its proper sequence, so I must write as I remember.

With the outbreak of the war on 11 October 1899 all burgers of the Transvaal were called up. Heidelberg was on the main railway line to Natal and so our commando left for there to stop the enemy from invading our country. Everybody thought that the war would soon be over and no one dreamt that it would last for nearly three years until May 1902.

I can vaguely remember that now and then some of our men came home for various reasons and later returned to the front. Cornelis was at this time working in Pretoria as a telegraphist attached to President Kruger’s staff. Gert was under age for conscription but he nevertheless joined up with the Heidelberg Commando on 6 February 1900. There was no one more eager to fight than he.

He and many of the young men of Heidelberg were under the command of General Piet Cronjé. When a few weeks later, on 21 February, Cronjé surrendered to the English, we didn’t know whether Gert was among the 4 0004 fighting Boers who were taken prisoner. It was a fearful time for our poor mother – Father was in constant danger, Cornelis was busy with responsible war-work, and Gert, her favourite child, was a prisoner. She couldn’t find out whether he was maybe wounded or perhaps already killed, as no news came through. And, moreover, at this time she was expecting her eleventh child. The baby, a girl, was born on 6 March. Father took leave of absence to come home and arrived in time for her christening. She was named Gertina Hendrieka after her brother as we did not know whether Gert had survived the fighting. Later a telegram was received at Heidelberg, saying: “We are prisoners of war.” This was followed by a list of names among which was that of Gert Jooste. So his life had been spared and we received the news with much thankfulness.

Later the prisoners were sent to St Helena5 and held there. He was now far away but at least he spent the rest of the war years without having to face the kind of troubles and disasters that struck our parents and us children. On St Helena, they lived in tents, and were at least sheltered, clothed and fed (however plainly) and could also receive some schooling.

Gert returned to South Africa only on 14 September 1902, some months after the conclusion of peace, landing in Durban. He then made his way to the Howick camp where we were being held. What a joy it was for us to be together once more. Only Father was still being held on the island of Bermuda6 where he had been sent as a prisoner of war. We were not allowed to return to Heidelberg as Father would not accept that we had lost the struggle.7 He arrived in Heidelberg on 1 October and we could only leave Howick for home on the 26th of the month.

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The enemy pressed ever deeper into the Orange Free State from the Cape Colony and also from the Natal side. Then the dreadful day of 23 June 1900 dawned for us.

Throughout the previous nine months we had stayed by ourselves in the house without any form of income. There was also no one to help Mother. She was all alone with us six children – me (then 14), James, Robert, Dolly, Hettie and Gerrie. We didn’t go to school and there were no servants, and so we all had to do our best to help Mother.

In the meantime, heavy fighting took place in Natal and the Free State. We constantly received news of burgers from our town who had been wounded or killed in battle.

Cornelis was still attached to President Kruger’s staff as a telegraphist until just before the enemy broke through to Heidelberg. When Pretoria fell, he went with the president to Machadodorp (in present-day Mpumalanga). Before President Kruger left for Europe, Cornelis and perhaps some other officers as well were given a large sum of money which had to be paid out to the officers in the field.

As a telegraphist, Cornelis had to operate a heliograph8 during the war. He was then 18 years of age. Like a spy, he had to search out high-lying places from where he could observe the enemy. Then he would flash his signals to the commandos to indicate in which direction the Boers should move. In those arduous years in the veld we could share with our men only in thought, and be with them in spirit, for we never had a single word from them.

I remember well the morning of 23 June 1900 when we heard the cannons firing near the town. Lord Methuen, with an overwhelming force of ten thousand men, was camped at Nigel, only a short distance away, and had threatened to bombard Heidelberg if we did not surrender. The previous night had been spent by the women in preparing whatever food was available for the men who were setting out to face the enemy. We accompanied Father and Cornelis and other brave soldiers a good distance along the road out of town. Then came the moment for parting, and little did we know that we would not see each other again for more than two years.

Then we saw the Khakis9 like a tawny-coloured stream flowing past our home en route to the house of Mr FDJ Wepenaar, the magistrate. He and a number of burgers had chosen to betray their country rather than resist and to lay down their arms.

That day marked the beginning of the indescribable pain, sorrow and anxiety which the women and children had to endure for almost two years. It felt as if the men and elder boys on whom they depended for protection and help had gone forever. There were terrible reports and rumours of women and girls being assaulted and unspeakable indignities and cruelties inflicted on them. Only later after we had ourselves been taken away and heard of the experiences of hundreds of women and girls did we understand and believe them.

In those days older people did not discuss these matters in front of a girl of my age, and so I was unaware of what was taking place and could not understand why I always had to wear a kappie or bonnet that hid my face. I also couldn’t understand why for all those months I was not allowed to go out on the front verandah.

I recall so much, but cannot give particular details of what exactly transpired during the next six months until December 1900. From the very first day that the enemy entered Heidelberg, all the women whose husbands were on commando were notified that they and their children were forbidden to leave their homes.

Day and night a fully armed sentry stood in front of our door. No candle could be lit after dark. If any light appeared, the house was immediately fired on. In this way we nearly lost my grandmother, Father’s mother, one night.

Poor Mother had to look after her six young children, of whom baby Gerrie was the youngest. For six months we could not buy food, not even a single penny’s worth. Many people will not believe this and ask what we lived on. What indeed.

The night before our burgers left the town, Mother and Aunt Nonnie Human spent the whole night baking bread and rusks in the big outside oven, and cooking meat and preparing food to give to their loved ones. As a result practically everything in the house was used up. We were townspeople and could not, like the farmer’s wife, go to the storeroom for another bag of mieliemeal, or to fetch some more pumpkins, poultry, eggs or milk. We did not keep such amounts of provisions in the house.

I can now realise what a shock and sobering realisation it was for Mother when she was ordered to stay at home and couldn’t even go to the grocer to buy food. And to hear that this order also applied to the children – and that in any case all the provisions in the shops had been confiscated. When the English soldiers saw domestic animals or poultry such as a cow, pig or fowls, they were immediately confiscated. We had a pretty pet lamb but he was soon killed by a bayonet.

We had many English-speaking friends who were only too willing to help us but who did not dare. The consequences would have been drastic for them. I am sure our Heavenly Father took care of our poor Mother. Our garden bordered on a small stream on the banks of which stood a thick clump of poplars. Mother hid our cow there and tied it up. In this way we children had fresh milk every day, though I cannot remember for how long. The cow was surely taken away later. There were also a few hens in the bushes and we must have had an egg or two now and then.

James and Robbie could not be kept indoors or in the yard, so when the opportunity arose they played with an old football in the street with some small boys. Sometimes the sentry, a young fellow, would join in.

One day Mother concocted a plan to obtain some provisions. She wrote a short note and placed it with some money near the water tap. The youngsters outside were meant to kick the ball over the wall into the yard and then come and have a drink of water at the tap. One would pick up the note with the money and the next day return with a parcel in his knapsack, which he would take out and put down.

The plan worked well and Mother was able to retrieve the parcels. Although the plan was carried out only a few times, it was a great help to Mother. It was then winter and everything in the Transvaal was bare and dry, so there was unfortunately nothing growing in our garden.

I can remember that one day we were all very hungry. Mother took down from the top shelf in the pantry a dish of bran and some dried-out kaiings – rendered fat – which had a pleasant, tangy taste. She used these to make a meal for us.

Meanwhile, several notices were issued by the military authorities urging all women – under threat – to persuade their menfolk to surrender and to lay down their arms. And finally there was a long ultimatum, threatening with immediate deportation all women who refused to sign a document detailing the hard times they were enduring and begging their husbands and sons to come home. Otherwise they would be sent away as prisoners of war. As far as I can ascertain not a single woman signed this outrageous document.

Accompanying the notices were squads of Khakis who entered our houses and removed the furniture, leaving precious little for the occupants. And frequent searches were made for weapons and money. The furniture was then taken and off-

loaded at the market square, where Heidelberg’s Civic Centre and Town Hall now stands. There the Africans and a few despicable traitors – “hands-uppers”10 we called them – could help themselves and take what they wanted. What was left over was burnt.

Our house was particularly well furnished and, strangely enough, because of this none of our furniture was removed. We later heard that one or other English officer reserved them for himself so that he could move into our house as soon as we had vacated it. At least Mother was spared the indignity of seeing her furniture being taken away. But in the end it did not help much for when we returned to our home two years later there was not a stick of furniture left. The people who had lived there in the meantime had ruined everything – even the doors and windows were badly damaged, and the house was unspeakably dirty.

Those townspeople who had signed the oath of loyalty to the English were allowed to purchase provisions with ration cards. This also applied to some widows whose husbands had died on the battlefield. In this way Elsie Human, the widow of John Spruyt, could buy food, and now and then she gave Mother a tin of condensed milk. Every drop of it was fed to our baby, Gerrie.

Luckily, Mother had a fair amount of cash, mostly gold pounds, in the house, but she had to hide it in various places. I recall clearly how I helped Mother on several occasions to dig a hole in the pitch darkness and deposit the little bundles in it and cover them with earth – once in the old fowl run, and another time in the corner of an outside room. Only Mother and I knew where they were hidden. Later Mother made a linen belt which fitted tightly round my waist and she placed some of the money there. If she was ever taken away, I would be able to use the money to look after the little ones.

Not far from us lived Mr Ahrbeck, a widower. He and his five daughters were great friends of ours. For some reason or other, probably because he was a foreigner, the English left him alone. Many times some of the girls came to our garden gate and asked to see the baby. And so I would push the pram up to the gate and they would then take the little one for a walk, at first going only a short distance and then returning. The sentry had grown lax and paid no attention to the baby’s pram. I daresay he kept his eyes on the girls.

Mother then made a plan to conceal all sorts of little treasures in the pram underneath the baby with the sun curtains drawn over. The girls would push the pram to their home where they hung up or displayed the items as if they were their own. Later the baby was not even put into the pram and the covering was drawn securely over. For all the sentry knew, the baby was fast asleep under the curtains. More than two years later every single item was returned to Mother. We appreciated this, as these few items were all we ever recovered of our household goods and furniture.

Among the things were photographs and portraits which are today still in good condition hanging in Cornelis’s home. They included two enlargements of Father and Mother (in colour), the photograph of the 1896 Sunday School conference and the big picnic in the Heidelberg Kloof, as well as other family portraits. I think some of Father’s business papers were also included. I know who it was that somehow managed to acquire some of our pretty porcelain and ornaments, but they were never returned to us, so I shan’t name them.

When Elsie Human’s husband, John Spruyt, was killed in battle she was given permission to attend his funeral. He was a brother of General Cornelis Spruyt. She was allowed, as protection, to take a man with her to accompany her. She chose my brother James, then 12 years old. Permission was granted on condition that a petition from the women, begging their men to return home and lay down their arms, was taken through the lines. But not one man returned.

Each time some new prisoners of war arrived under guard at Heidelberg we heard of what was going on in the outside world. Many people also learned about their loved ones still in the field and how they were faring. Even now and then Mother received a letter from Gert on St Helena but there was no word from Father or Cornelis.

After the war we learnt that at about this time the Heidelberg Commando derailed a train. Among other things they captured the mail bags and found inside a number of letters and photographs of friends and acquaintances. In this way the commando learnt where their families were.