Half-Ballad of Waterval

 (Non-commissioned Officers in Charge of Prisoners)
When by the labor of my 'ands
 I've 'elped to pack a transport tight 
With prisoners for foreign lands, 
 I ain't transported with delight.

 I know it's only just an' right,
 But yet it somehow sickens me,
For I 'ave learned at Waterval
 The meanin' of captivity.


Be'ind the pegged barb-wire strands,
 Beneath the tall electric light,
We used to walk in bare-'ead bands,
 Explainin' 'ow we lost our fight;
 An' that is what they'll do to-night
 Upon the steamer out at sea,
If I 'ave learned at Waterval
 The meanin' of captivity.


They'll never know the shame that brands--
 Black shame no liven'' down makes white--
The mockin' from the sentry-stands,
 The women's laugh, the gaoler's spite.

 We are too bloomin'-much polite,
 But that is 'ow I'd 'ave us be .
 .
 .

Since I 'ave learned at Waterval
 The meanin' of captivity.


They'll get those draggin'' days all right,
 Spent as a foreigner commands,
An' 'orrors of the locked-up night,
 With 'Ell's own thinkin'' on their 'ands.

 I'd give the gold o' twenty Rands
 (If it was mine) to set 'em free
 For I 'ave learned at Waterval
 The meanin' of captivity!

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