...."Here in England the public have taken but little notice of the expedition of volunteers under Sir Chas. Warren, which left this country some time ago, and has been engaged in clearing Boer freebooters from protected territory in Bechuanaland, South Africa. The subjoined item, which with its own heading we reproduce, has been forwarded to us by the friends of one of the Volunteers:—
THE TIN POT OF BECHUANALAND.
....The following beautiful and truly touching poem was composed by one of the survivors of the now world renowned Bechuanaland Field Force, who, in the year of our Lord, 1885, bravely followed the fortunes of his chief (with the great expedition) into the land of Goshen, overcoming with undaunted courage all the obstacles in the passage of the force through the Cape Colony (by train), through Griqualand (on a wagon), and through the insurgent republic of Stellaland (on moke-back), finally hoisting the British Flag at Mafeking.
....Overawed by the imposing appearance, and the still more imposing ways of the force and its commander, the Dutchmen fled "like ice before the sun," while the members of the expedition, after a prolonged stay of magnificent inactivity, eventually returned to the Cape, their battles unfought, their object ungained, but each of them rewarded with the rare and much coveted decoration of the "Order of the Tin pot of Bechuanaland"; whilst historians have justly eulogized the leader of the expedition by not inaptly comparing him unto the Great Duke of York, for he
Had twice two thousand men,
He marched them up through Stellaland,
And marched them down again.
THE MEDAL OF THE B.F.F.*
Oh Father! tell us father, whose eye is bleared and dim,
Like some ancient tallow candle, an unsnuffed and seedy glim;
Oh tell us of the medal that you wore upon your breast
When you marched up thro' Stellaland, a chucking of a chest.
.
And tell us of the battles and the victories you won,
And the hardships you encountered there beneath an Afric's sun;
Relate to us the legends of the Dutchmen whom you slew,
Though often told, they're beautiful, and wonderfully true.
.
I will my son, the old man said, in beery voice, and low,
It happened, 'twas in '85, that's forty year ago:
That bold Sir Charles Warren, he, with twice two thousand men,
Marched bravely up thro' Stellaland, and then marched down again.
.
And Oh! it was a goodly sight to see each gallant boy
In his putties and cord breeches,and his coat of corduroy:
But 'midst this pomp and splendour, why the thing that looked the best,
Was the medal of the B. F. F. each wore upon his breast.
.
Aye! that was a medal surely lad, no bright and shining star,
No bronze gew-gaw for marching that, and glittering from afar;
But a simple tin pot medal, with this touching legend stamped,
The number of the tramper, and the Corps with which he tramped.
.
Nor was it worn outwardly as if for side and show,
But jealously lay hidden, down all in the depths below;
Amidst those lively animals we picked up on the veldt,
The fleas and ticks and others that with Norfolk Howard's spelt.
.
It was a stout and goodly Force, composed of the Dragoons,
Of volunteers, three regiments, and some Pioneering ......;
Three Batteries of Artillery were also with the Chief.
Besides the men, who fed the troops on wretched bouilli beef.
.
Then there were the Telegraphists, their poles all in a row,
Which, when they had'nt tumbled down, brought news from down below:
Brought us news of other soldiers, and the victories they won,
While we sat still and grumbled, for our sport had not begun.
.
And we also had a Corps of Guides, some gents of sable hue,
Though why they called them guides I don't think anybody knew;
Unless it was that they were unacquainted with the way,
So "Domine direge nos," we howled when led astray.
.
One day the Engineers, who were possessed of a balloon,
Sent the old chief Montsioa up (a captive), towards the moon:
And it was a spirit-stirring sound to hear his women swear,
As they saw their lord and master floating gaily through the air.
.
For 'tis the usual belief in Montsioa's town
That when a chieftain dies he takes a lengthy journey down:
While a missionary murmured, as he gazed up in the sky,
How strange that soldiers are the first to send my flock on high.
.
But at last there came an order, just as if some fairy wand
Had set us all in motion, and we marched on Rooi Grond:
And there we saw the Dutchman's flag float bravely o'er the plain,
So we played at body-snatching, and we then sneaked home agin.
.
Of course there was a grand review, a true red-letter day,
When all the Dutchmen came and grinned, and grinning, rode away:
So each put back his sabre in obedience to the call,
And bethought him of his medal, and that made amends for all.
.
So then we marched from Mafeking and Sitlagoli too,
Through Vryburg, Taungs, in fact we marched the whole of Boerland through:
And trekking down West Griqualand, at last we reached the Cape,
Each man convinced that he at least had played the garden ape.
.
So you see we fought no battles on that glorious campaign,
For not a man was wounded, not a warrior was slain:
And the doctors had an easy time, as doctors always will
Campaigning with a General who's fighting with a quill.
.
Thus, you see my lad, the medal that I once wore next my skin
Is no blood-stained medallion, 'tis a simple bit of tin:
But the sight of it reminds me how I wore it on my breast
When I marched up thro' Stellaland a chucking of a chest.
.
But youngster there's a moral, just to end my simple rhyme,
Don't you ever go a soldiering in all your future time:
But if you should be mad enough, of Africa keep clear,
And whate'er you do you idiot, "Don't you never volunteer!"
.
* Bechuanaland Field Force."
The Bury and Norwich Post, Tuesday 11th August 1885
