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.