TOPIC:

The following is a letter written by Ronald Gordon Saxby, a private in the Third [New Zealand] Contingent. Saxby later joined the Ninth Contingent, though this corps arrived too late to take part in operations in the field as the war had ended before its arrival in South Africa. Saxby spent time in the South African police during the war - one of many New Zealanders attracted by the higher pay they could receive in the police, even though they had to pay for their horses feed. The 'Captain Chaytor' that Saxby refers to is Edward Walter Clervaux Chaytor who later became commander of the New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade during WW1 that saw service against the Turks in Sinai and Palestine

Chaytor's biography can be viewed on the following website:
www.teara.govt.nz/en/biographies/3c13/ch...ward-walter-clervaux


LETTER FROM R. G. SAXBY, [New Zealand] THIRD CONTINGENT
PRETORIA, JUNE 25th.

When we were in Bloemfontein I seized the opportunity in town one day of addressing an envelope to you in ink. I discovered the remains of that envelope in my wallet the other day and it struck me it was time I wrote.. I don’t know how often you get letters from policemen – bobbies in fact, but this is one anyway, as I have taken that game on. We entered Pretoria with General Hutton about the beginning of this month, and we have done practically nothing ever since, except knock around from one camp to another in this vicinity. Loafing around camp is grand for a short time after weeks of hard going, but one very soon gets awfully sick of it, and longs to be doing something again; so as there seemed no chance of getting to the front again, 137 of us jumped at the chance of joining the police, besides a good number who couldn’t get in, and a good many non-coms. About half-a-dozen of our officers tried to get in too, but none of them managed it as there are plenty of officers already. The reason for our inactivity was want of horses, there being very few left among the three contingents, a great number of them having either cracked up or died of overwork shortly before getting here. My horse knocked up the day of the skirmish shortly before the Klip River fight, the day Captain Chaytor was hit. The horse was one I brought with me, and was about the gamest little beast in South Africa. He had carried me splendidly right from the start. He had stood overwork well, but when that was combined with nothing to eat and a touch of horse sickness, it was too much for him. He was led in the rear with the sick horses for a few days until he could go no further, and was left on the veldt, or “prairie” as the Canadians call it. If I had been there I should have shot him to save him from being worked to rags as soon as he is able to stagger along with a load. I am quite satisfied that this is no game to bring a good horse to. The next day or two I was lucky enough to get Captain Chaytor’s horse to ride, and so got into the Klip River fight instead of being left in the rear with the rest of the “Dead Horse Brigade,” as they are called.
The Klip River fight will be ancient history to you by the time this reaches you, but our part in it may not be uninteresting. We were right bang in the centre with General Hutton’s Brigade, and knew very little of the doings of other columns, though we heard Hamilton’s guns on the right the second day. We heard something of French on the left, too, though we saw nothing of either of them. To get at our very bad position we had to pass over the very ground where Jamieson [sic] surrendered, and a worse place for a stand I have not seen in South Africa. The 1st Mounted Infantry were the first to get under fire, and we watched the Boer shells and pom-poms bursting among them for about half-an-hour before we got into it ourselves, as we were following up with the guns. When we did get into it we had to stand there in extended order holding our horse to draw the Boers’ fire while the guns got into position. We succeeded in drawing the fire right enough, too, if that was all they wanted, and that particular part of South Africa became a little inferno, though strange to say only one New Zealander was hit. He belonged to the 1st Contingent, poor beggar, and had the top of his head nearly knocked off by a fragment of shell while talking to one of our fellows. Most of the 3rd Contingent were pretty new to 2lb. Long Tom shells, and at first there was dead silence as we listened to them screeching toward us, followed by roars of laughter (from relief, I think) when they burst and buried themselves in the ground without hitting anybody. It was amusing to notice how soon the laughter stopped, though no ne shifted, when shells and pom-poms started coming together. Shells are to be put up with, but you can’t beat pom-poms for making a fellow reckon up his wages. They are beastly things, though it is grand to watch our own bursting among the Boers. They made beautiful practice at us with their guns, but only about half their shells burst or there would have been a different tale to tell. There were a great many narrow shaves of course. About the nearest I had was a shell passing over the heads of a bunch of us and landing less than ten feet away. It threw earth all over the Transvaal and then spluttered and went out, which was just as well. Another shell landed among the feet of two fellows in the rank behind us, throwing them both on the ground. The top of the shell blew off with a puff, but it never burst, and the empty shell flew up in the air and buried itself under my horse without hitting him. One of the buglers was sitting on a rock, and when two or three shells had burst pretty close someone said. “they’ve got you set, you’d better shift.” The next shell landed exactly where he had been. If he had stayed his clothes would probably have been torn. The guns got into action after a pretty short time, and we were then ordered to advance and form a firing line in front of them, leaving our horses with the No.3 man of each section. They has a real bad time for the rest of the day, as the Boers continued treating them to shells and pom-poms too thick to be pleasant until it was dark. We had good shelter among some rocks and the Mauser fire was not very heavy except when some of French’s cavalry passed between us and the Boers, then the bullets rained round very thick indeed. We had been firing there for about an hour when we were ordered to straggle back to our horses. About 30 were straggling across an open piece of ground with a few yards between us when the Boers gave us about twenty pom-poms. They were well aimed and all landed right among us and burst “as pom-poms always do do do.” It is an extraordinary thing that again not one of us was scratched, though pieces flew pretty thick. It is a standing marvel the small number of casualties there are when under heavy fire. I can’t understand it and I don’t think anyone else can. I often used to read in N.Z. papers about bullets raining round and tearing the ground among men, and perhaps one slightly wounded, but I never believed it until I got out here. He had not been long with the horses when we were ordered to form another firing line to the right of the guns, There was very little cover here except the grass, which is almost as good as rocks, for they can’t place one exactly and watch for one’s head to stick out as they can behind a rock or ant heap.
We did not do much firing here as we could not see the Boers. We blazed away at their rocks for a bit until we got “cease fire,” and then we went to sleep where we lay. The Boers were blazing at us all this time thicker and thicker until dark, but somehow a fellow doesn’t care a kick for rifle bullets after shells, though they are really the more dangerous of the two. The Boer shells were screeching over our heads all the time on their way to our horses and the artillery, but they did not trouble us with them. It was grand to hear the scream of our shells on their way to the Boers seemingly only a few feet over our heads, though of course they were a bit more than that. Our artillery (O Battery R.H.A. ) did wonderful work on anything within their range – they are only 12 pounders – and soon silenced the Boer batteries on the left, though they could not reach the Long Tm and some others on the right. If we had had Hamilton with his two 4.7 Naval guns that day there would have been some fun but he did not arrive till next day. The Boers are dead scared of these guns and won’t face them at all. After dark we went back a few at a time for our swags to our horses and slept in the firing line all night, one of each section being on watch at a time. It was an awfully cold night the water in our water bottles being frozen into a solid lump before morning. We had a pretty soft thing on next day. Firing started soon after daylight, and after we had put in a short time in the firing line we were relieved by the Canadians. We then lined our along a ridge – the Boers were expected to attack and didn’t, so we were practically out of the firing line for the rest of the day. In the middle of the day the whole of our brigade retired the way we had come and started working round towards the left flank, camping about 9 o’clock. I think the whole thing, as far as our brigade and position was concerned, was a move to draw the Boers’ fire and keep them busy while French and Hamilton worked round the flanks, otherwise I can see no object in occupying the position we did. The third day I was galloper for Major Allison R.H.A., and so got a grand view of all the artillery work. There was not a great deal besides artillery work, and we had been marching until mid-day before that started. We got the Long Tom that had been troubling us two days before, and the Queenslanders got a few transport waggons [sic], and that was about all that happened. If we had been a few hours earlier I believe we would have got the whole Boers’ convoy, which would have been a catch. The Boers live like fighting cocks and we would have found their luxurious commissariat an agreeable change from half rations. After this we continued our march on Pretoria, unfortunately leaving Johannesburg about four miles on our right. I would like to have seen the place very much. It was about this time I had to give up Capt. Chaytor’s horse and hoof it with the rest of the dead horse brigade. We eventually reached Pretoria and have been here ever since. Our entry was unexciting in the extreme, the pace being full of soldiers when we arrived. There were not many New Zealanders in the subsequent fighting about twenty miles out, though lack of horses. Pretoria is not much of a place, or rather it is a very curious sort of a town, being an odd mixture of squalor and splendor. The public buildings in the square in the centre of the town are magnificent, while right alongside them are wretched little one-storey billiard saloons and public bars (which khakee [sic] daren’t enter). Then came some fine shops and two magnificent hotels. The whole town is very dirty, but I don’t know whether it is so in peace time, though one would think so from general appearances. The barrack we are living in is a fine brick building which was a college before the war. This is some of their foolscap I am using. It makes a fine barrack if we were not so crowded. We sleep on the floors of rooms and passages as tight as we can pack for the present, though I suppose that will be remedied as fellows get drafted off to different duties. There are rumours of mattresses coming for us, but I don’t know whether it is true or not and don’t care much as a roof is luxury enough when it rains after three months without one. The pay is 10s a day and found in everything, which is not so bad, especially as the troopers are reported to be paid occasionally, which is more than we were with the New Zealanders. The first night patrol which has just come in reports that it is the fun of the world up town, shots going all over the place and fellows run in in [sic] all directions. I have not been on a patrol yet as I am on the horse lines for the first week and am exempt from all other duties. Rations are pretty short and are fairly heaved at one, the “tucker rush” being far worse than on the Knight Templar. I expect this will be righted when we are less crowded. We can supplement the rations from town as long as coin hangs out, which will not be many more days unless they pay us pretty quick. Nearly everyone is absolutely broke. Major Robin is in a fearful way at our “desertion” to join the police, and threw every possible obstacle in our way to stop our joining but failed, as Lord Roberts had said all colonial troops were to have the option – I think with the idea of keeping us in the country. We sign for three months with the option of signing for a longer period afterwards. I intend to leave after three months and return to New Zealand, as I came here with no intention of staying, though it is possible I may return to the mines after a bit. Lord Roberts and Baden-Powell came to the officers’ quarters in our barracks the other night to hold a dinner or something in honour of the latter. They picked a guard of honor from the Police, or Transvaal Constabulary as we are called, and drilled us savagely for two days. We did not have much to do besides present arms and that sort of thing when he arrived, and we got through first rate considering we were a very mixed crowd of mounted men, most of whom had never done any foot drill. Our officers were very pleased anyway. Lord Roberts then walked down the lines and inspected us. I was glad to get a good view of the man one has heard so much about. He is very short and exactly like the pictures of him; but I suppose you have seen him more often than I have. He walked past without taking the least notice of me, and never even asked me in to dinner, at which I was rather annoyed. A day or two ago I was cooking breakfast in the dead horse lines when I heard “Hello Sax” behind me, and there was Pat. Fitzherbert just the same as ever. I was surprised to see him as I thought he was sixty miles away, but he was at the same game as ourselves, being left behind with Roberts’ Horse dead horse brigade.
When I get back home I shall probably have many lies to tell. In the meantime I think I have been blowing the flute long enough and had better knock off, hoping that you can make out this scrawl, written for the most part on the floor of a crowded barrack room. It is surprising how small the world is when one gets abroad. I have met quite a number of acquaintances here besides the old boys in the first and second contingents. We have seen nothing of the fourth or fifth contingents, and don’t even know where they are, though we something hear that they are still at Cape Town and sometimes at Beira. I would like to come across the fourth as I know a lot of fellows in it, to say nothing of Con. I would like to see Sergt.-Major (now Lieut.) Dewar, too. I have used Boer paper for this, so I think it is a fair thing to collar one of their envelopes.