Sir Walter Scott endangers Grandad Williamson's life

A few more days march and we reached Middleburg on the railway 50 or 60 miles north east of Pretoria.  Here we rested a week or two and as the Boers continued their resistance in the form of guerrilla warfare, we formed a small column to hunt them down.  We infantrymen were mounted in mule drawn wagons, and with a regiment of cavalry, the 18th Hussars, we set out along with other similar small columns to sweep the north eastern Transvaal.  When the cavalry came up against stronger opposition than they could overcome we dismounted and generally that did the trick.  While we threatened a frontal attack the cavalry would be working round to their rear.  The enemy, mounted on wiry ponies were a very mobile force, and living on the country, whereas the scope of our operations was limited by the supplies we could carry.  Much transport would limit our speed.

On one of our sweeps it was up to our column to destroy the small town of Ermilo.  It did seem a shame, but we did the job by fire.  Most of the houses had a lot of wood in their construction and of course burnt furiously.  The destructive party I was with had the jail and some bungalows to burn.  One of the bungalows had a false roof so I went up to it and found a number of books.  I picked out “Ivanhoe” and “The White Company”,  sat down and became immersed in reading “The White Company” until the smoke coming up through the hatchway reminded me of my job.  My mates, not knowing I was up there had fired the room below.  I yelled and dropping through the hatch they soon had me safe.  I kept those two books until I came home in 1904.  I said it seemed a shame to destroy Ermilo – it turned out to be just that.  Twelve months later the Blockhouse Line from Standerton north-westwards ran through the place.

Grandad Williamson and the Scoundrel

During this march, information was brought in that the Boers were using some farms a few miles off the line of march so a party of us and some Royal Engineers led by an old Major (who was afterwards killed leading a battalion of Lancashire Fusiliers landing at Gallipoli) did a night attack.  Getting near the farms we broke up into three small parties, the Major coming with the party I was in.  Firing broke out on our left as we reached the door of the house we were attacking.  We bashed in the door and stumbling over a saddle and a Mauser rifle we rushed into the living room.  There in bed lay two women with a lump between them.  I flung the bedclothes off and there he was.  He surrendered and got up, then the old Major said to him “Is one of these women your wife?”  “No sir,” replied the man.  “You scoundrel!” said the officer.  We lads grinned.  The Boer, he was a schoolmaster.

I had taken part in several night attacks with that old Major in command and always he was the front man going in and the last man coming out.  He was a stickler for what was right.  The ex-schoolmaster was put under guard and the women packed a few things in their Trek Wagon, got in themselves and we started back to camp.  Their destination – the schoolmaster to a prisoner of war camp, the women to one of the special camps.  We had made about two miles of our return journey when, hearing a bang, we looked back and saw the corrugated iron roofing of their home flying in the air like huge Aasvogels.  I overheard  one of the women say to the other Skellum our engineers had blown up their house -  a penalty for giving comfort to the enemy.