After the ride in the train which went like the Devil
downhill and crawled up and round many turns we arrived at Maritzburg and
marched straight up to the military encampment on detraining. There we were sorted out into the companies
we were posted to, given tea and bedding and settled down to a quiet garrison
life – Guards, Picquets, Parades and all the Bull.)
In the encampment were the Dublin Fusiliers, the Leicesters,
the 5th Lancers and some Corps troops including a military hospital – quite a
lively garrison. The Leicesters had the
champion heavyweight boxer of South Africa and the best football team in the
Transvaal and Natal in its ranks. The
Dublins had some of the wildest devils outside Ireland in its ranks. We called our encampment Tin Town. The huts were all corrugated iron and fairly
close by was the Kaffir village whose head man was an old chief named Tekeleki. This old chap, so it was said, had numerous
wives. We lads used to discuss this and
reckon it was a shame that he had so many women, the old devil, and we had
none. The village was out of bounds to
the troops, very strictly, I never knew anyone who had broken in. The old chief was some person with the
authorities and could make it awkward for anyone who broke in.
Our Regimental Sergeant Major was a stickler for form. One of my pals was made an unpaid Lance
Corporal and of course that had to be celebrated, having been a Private. All Oliver’s friends were Privates and some
of these went downtown with him celebrating.
The grapevine, probably the Regimental Police, carried the news back to
the Sergeant Major who next morning sent for Oliver and gave him a lecture
about drinking with private soldiers and finished his talk saying, “Stand on
your dignity man, stand on your dignity”.
Oliver turned on him and said, “Look here sir. If my dignity was a big as your head you
would be able to drill the battalion on it.”
He lost his stripe. Drilling his
battalion was one of the Sergeant Major’s pet jobs.
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