Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Rorke's Drift By Arthur WALTERS.

Rorke's Drift

By Arthur WALTERS.

In the hush that was the dawning of a sultry tropic morning
Came suggestion of a rumble far away
We could not say from where, was it here or was it there?
To trace the sound was really hard to say.

As the mist rose from the grasses over hills and mountain passes
The rumble came more clearly to the ear.
As it echoed through the hills down the gullies and the rills,
The suspense filled mortal man with fear.

The rumble came on stronger, sometimes fading sometimes longer,
Looming nearer as each moment passed us by.
Chilling reason now was dawning, urgent bugles tuned a warning
And vultures circled slowly in the sky.

Now the din akin to thunder, made us scan the hills in wonder
The menace froze us solid to the core.
So with ammunition ready, we held our rifles steady,
A thin red line of soldiers braced for war.

We turned wagons on their backs, piled-up rows of mealie sacks,
Sturdy boxes... And all that lay to hand.
Now the heat was so intense, as we built up our defence,
T'was not our choice but we must make a stand.

Then suddenly against the sky, across the ridge, as thick as rye,
We saw a host and heard the stamping feet.
The mountainside became a mass of waving spears like ebon grass,
T'was do-or-die for us... With no retreat.

Four Thousand war-cries thundered as they came against our hundred,
Pouring down the hillsides and the slopes,
A solid wall, of shields, as they raced across the fields,
And encircling 'horns' were closing on our hopes.

We braced ourselves against the shock, our rifles ready at the 'cock'
The mighty Zulu impi now so near.
Our sergeant seeming very calm stood out front with lifted arm,
The sight of him dispelled a little fear.

He firmly ordered, Fire me boys them spears are sharp not toys!
And with those words we sent a hail of lead.
Mid bayonet thrust and cordite fumes, the stabbing spears and ostrich plumes,
The struggles raged around the mounting dead.

With savage conflict through the night our ranks were closed and sorely tight,
They pressed us to the buildings at our rear.
The battle now in Hellish glow from leaping flames set by the foe,
Our weapons red with heat, and hands to sear.

Inside we made a desperate stand, from room to room fought hand-to-hand,
With rifle butt we parried bloodied spear.
Companions falling all around, the Zulus slowly gave their ground.
Until at last the mission house was clear.

We chased them through the smoky pall, o'er the fence and mealie wall,
The rising sun proclaimed the break of day.
Wearily we turned aside to count the gallant men who died.
This carnage was a bitter price to pay.

Men in red coats, pallors white, once proud warriors, black as night,
Mingled where they'd fallen in their gore.
And around the gutted Mission station lay the bravest of the Zulu nation,
To never rise again for evermore...

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Lou Lou


This was a photo of Our little Kitten Lou Lou, and I used a drawing program called FotoSketcher.

It works well, but other photo's may have a different effect, but well worth a try.

Friday, May 28, 2010

A Poem.

Long Tom O’ Pepworth’s Hill
(Anonymous)



He doth not speak in parable
Or whisper soft and low,
So all the folk of Ladysmith
His ever every accent know;
For he can bend the stiffest back
And mould the strongest will,
He’s quite a little autocrat,
Long Tom o’ Pepworth’s Hill.
We listen when he speaks in wrath,
We’re braver when he cools,
Yet he is very kind to men
If somewhat rough on mules.
He brings us bounding out of bed
When we would fain lie still,
We grumble but we all obey
Long Tom o’ Pepworth’s Hill.
A breezy bluff intrusive sort,
He visits everywhere,
Sometimes he seeks your cellar cool,
Sometimes your easy chair.
Sometimes he enters by the roof,
Sometimes the window sill,
It’s vain to say you’re not at home
To Tom o’ Pepworth’s Hill.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

The Borough of Ladysmith.

The Borough of Ladysmith was Shelled on November 2, 1899.(Anonymous)


All within the leagured Bobs,
Calm and peaceful as of yore,
Sat the people silently waiting
The dread cannon’s awful roar.
Overhead the sun was shining,
All serene the landscape lay.
Waiting for the great disturbance
All expected on that day.
Then broke forth a voice of thunder -
With the shock the air was rent -
Overhead there came a something -
Instantly every head was bent.
Part a whistle – part a howling -
Part a scream. And part a yell –
Then a shock – a noise of bursting.
’Twas the “murmur of the shell”.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

A New Year !!!

Well, I have decided, that I must keep this blog upto date.


I will (I hope) post atleast once a week.



See you all soon.





Click on Image to enlarge.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Holidays

Well, its that of year again. I am on holiday in Menorca and I love the place.


Time to relax and forget about everything,

Saturday, September 05, 2009

Mobile Phones

A GRISLY low budget public information film warning kids not to text while driving has become an international internet sensation with FIVE MILLION hits.

The 30-minute movie was made in a day by a former BBC producer using school kids as actors. It cost £10,000 to make, paid for by a local council and donations.




Warning - contains graphic scenes

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Update.

Things have been a little busy here, but I am starting to get my tasks sorted out.


I am still researching John Norwood VC, but things are going a little slow. I need help, In Ladysmith, there was a fellow office by the name of Ralph Legge Pomeroy, who was also at Oxford University with John, and I am trying to find more information on him. His family history may provide valueable info.


I am also rewriting my web pages. It's time for a change, but it will take time. I have the template and have finished the basic design of the Index Page, but still lots of work.

Saturday, June 06, 2009

Michael - A Poem.

"There's something in your face, Michael, I've seen it all the day;
There's something quare that wasn't there when first ye wint away. . . ."

"It's just the Army life, mother, the drill, the left and right,
That puts the stiffinin' in yer spine and locks yer jaw up tight. . . ."

"There's something in your eyes, Michael, an' how they stare and stare --
You're lookin' at me now, me boy, as if I wasn't there. . . ."

"It's just the things I've seen, mother, the sights that come and come,
A bit o' broken, bloody pulp that used to be a chum. . . ."

"There's something on your heart, Michael, that makes ye wake at night,
And often when I hear ye moan, I trimble in me fright. . . ."

"It's just a man I killed, mother, a mother's son like me;
It seems he's always hauntin' me, he'll never let me be. . . ."

"But maybe he was bad, Michael, maybe it was right
To kill the inimy you hate in fair and honest fight. . . ."

"I did not hate at all, mother; he never did me harm;
I think he was a lad like me, who worked upon a farm. . . ."

"And what's it all about, Michael; why did you have to go,
A quiet, peaceful lad like you, and we were happy so? . . ."

"It's thim that's up above, mother, it's thim that sits an' rules;
We've got to fight the wars they make, it's us as are the fools. . . ."

"And what will be the end, Michael, and what's the use, I say,
Of fightin' if whoever wins it's us that's got to pay? . . ."

"Oh, it will be the end, mother, when lads like him and me,
That sweat to feed the ones above, decide that we'll be free. . . ."

"And when will that day come, Michael, and when will fightin' cease,
And simple folks may till their soil and live and love in peace? . . ."

"It's coming soon and soon, mother, it's nearer every day,
When only men who work and sweat will have a word to say;
When all who earn their honest bread in every land and soil
Will claim the Brotherhood of Man, the Comradeship of Toil;
When we, the Workers, all demand: `What are we fighting for?' . . .
Then, then we'll end that stupid crime, that devil's madness -- War."

By Robert W. Service




PS Thank you to BillyBoy for sending it to me.