Event: Anglo-Boer War 1899–1902—Measles epidemic in the concentration camps.
In the voice of: Sannie Botha (a survivor).
Jan’s cough kept me awake all through the night.
The children are all coughing in the night;
the fevers gave us all a mighty fright.
The red, now itchy, spots on body parts;
“Oh! Son Jan, don’t you scratch the itchy parts,
as scabs and scars will follow just like warts.”
If only I had negosiekist* at hand.
The muthi† in friend's kist – her helping hand –
but mothers dug graves with bare hands in sand.
Now I might stop to shake my balled fist.
The Tommies‡ shake their riffles in tight fists;
they're no older than Jan when they enlisted.
The torment was breaking all of our hearts
and the fragile peace brokered, never lasts.
Categories:
tommies, africa, conflict, endurance,
Form: Sonnet
Those Tommies send their planes in large amounts
They drop their bombs but all they do is bounce
Like rubber balls their bouncy bombs all missed
Those British pilots must be really…
*
The steward asked the ‘Lady’ won’t you please enjoy our boat
The RMS Titanic is the safest ship afloat
The lady huffed and said a little service would be nice
I’ve got my gin and tonic… could you organise some ice?
*
Vesuvius is puffing out some wispy smoke today
They say there could be fireworks to brighten up Pompeii
How many more times will they say that mountain’s gonna go
And won’t somebody tell me what’s a pyroclastic…
…
Oh!
*
I learned my skills in marketing back in seventy three
For twelfth century Pisa was a training ground for me
I proved my salesmanship to market trader, Uncle Neville
I even got a few quid for that dodgy spirit level
Categories:
tommies, humorous,
Form: Rhyme
Time is a sieve through
which everything slips
what once mattered
rendered meaningless
as our lifeblood drips
onto the clay creating
a muddy bog that in
our well worn boots
we wearily slog
like tired Tommies
in the trenches waiting
with bated breath
for the shrill sound
of the officer's whistle
to pierce the fusty
fetid air and send us
surging over the top in
a futile foray where we
will meet our final fate
that in our wasted youth
we failed to contemplate
Categories:
tommies, age, fate, time, world
Form: Rhyme