1899 - From the letters writer by Lt Col Park in Ladysmith
This is the twenty-eighth day of the siege and there is no news of our relief, though everyone thinks that this state of things can’t go on much longer. I expect the Boers are almost as sick of sitting round us, afraid to attack, as we are being bottled up, and there is a shave that many of them are leaving and trekking back to their homes, but there is no way of knowing the truth.
Yesterday being Sunday and everything quite peaceful, I actually went for a ride up to the top of Caesar’s Camp, a big flat-topped hill at the opposite end of our horseshoe line of defence, and about four or five miles off by road.
I got a splendid view over the whole country and felt much refreshed by the change of air and exercise. We had various visitors to tea in the afternoon, and I took a few of them up to look at our posts, which are always a popular show. Our chief worry at present is flies, which are in countless thousands, and are the most pertinacious and offensive I have ever seen. We have covered the mess shelter with strong disinfectants now to see if that will drive them away, as it is impossible to put a scrap of food into one’s mouth without two or three going in too, and everything on the table is just a black, buzzing mass of them. Our food is not so very appetising to begin with, and the flies make it hard to choke down anything at all. Some of the war correspondents have brought out and printed a little siege newspaper, called the Ladysmith Lyre, the first number of which came out last night and is very clever and amusing. I am trying to get a copy to keep as a memento of the siege; but they are hard to get, as only one hundred were printed and paper is scarce. There is a clever picture-cartoon thing of two generals starting out on a round of inspection, and one says," I say old chappie, hadn’t we better take umbrellas? I think it’s going to shell”, and there is a sort of shrapnel shower coming down over their heads. Oh, dear me! if only they would get the railway open, so that I could get your letters and send mine to you, I feel as if I could be content to stay here another month if necessary, but so long as there is no chance of either, each day is a weary drag to be got through somehow, and wiped out as quickly as possible. I hope and pray that when mails do come through there will be a good budget for me. If they go wrong, as they did before, and there are none, I shall feel inclined to go straight and get in front of the first shell and get my wretched head knocked off. I won’t think of anything dreadful, and I do try very hard to be patient and trust that all is well; but it is very hard, and must be so much worse for you. I am afraid there is no longer anv chance of our being back for Christmas; in fact, I doubt if this letter will reach you by then, but I still have hopes of getting to you before the end of January, as, if Buller is working up with his force through Bloemfontein to Pretoria while we are left to hold the Boers here, as soon as he reaches Pretoria the Boers must cave in and the show will be over, and then I think the Indian contingent will be sent back as soon as possible to save food and expense, as there will be heaps of English troops for police and garrison work. However, as I don’t know anything of Buller’s movements this is rather talking in the dark. I am steadily hoping and trying to believe that we shall get news before the end of this week. I should like to know if I am a colonel or not, and what has become of Yule.