Hendrik Verwoerd
Today,1961- Union of SA officially ceases to exist at midnight- will become a republic. Pic of Verwoerd in Cadillac enroute to festivities
Author Archive: admin
Paul Kruger
Today,1900- ABW2: Pres Kruger leaves Pretoria for Machadodorp, newly declared capital of the ZAR. He leaves his invalid wife Gezina behind
Today,1900- ABW2: Pres Kruger leaves Pretoria for Machadodorp, newly declared capital of the ZAR. He leaves his invalid wife Gezina behind
concentration-camps
Today,1902- ABW2: Reported Black concentration camp population reaches 115,700. 523 deaths are recorded for May. 14 000 by end of war
Today,1902- ABW 2: Reported camp population of the White concentration camps is 116 572 and the deaths for May are 196. Would grow to 25 000
Paul Kruger settles in a villa in Clarens
Today,1904- Paul Kruger settles in a villa in Clarens on lake Geneva having fled ZAR at the end of the war
@RareSApics
The Camp
The camp
boerwar_concentration_camps
White tents, white ant hills.
Strange, awkward stenches fills the war-torn air
Weak, but still proud, with no disinfectant
Sitting around in poverty: deprived!
Waiting for food. Waiting for water.
Humiliation. Disgrace. Filth.
Dead bodies carrying along white rows
They don’t care, they don’t think!
They can’t think. They kill.
The pain inside: it cuts deep, very deep.
No sound. No breath. No life.
No words. Only thoughts.
Blue vitriol, no food.
Children crying, children dying
Hunger screams, hunger wails
Endless waiting and timeless prayers.
Shock. Horror. Pain.
Forgotten lives.
Panic. Fright. Terror.
God! My child is dead!
Footsteps. No words.
Empty arms. Eyes watching.
Not my child!
Patience:
Another seepkissie will arrive soon
Silence…
Nikita 22/8/2013
The Youngest Burgher
The Youngest Burgher
The Youngest Burgher
The camp of women is ruled by silence and darkness
The misery kindly concealed by the night
Here and there a minute light is flickering
Where the Angel of Death is lingering.
In this place of woe and of broken hearts
A young boy’s muffled whimpers quiver through the night
Who can count all the tears, who can measure the grief
of an orphan alone in the world
Freedom demands from our ranks
Men of courage who taunt mortal danger.
But also in the camp, the mother, the nurturer
And the innocent child on her breast.
And the reward? Perhaps on the plains
A lonesome grave doused by no tears.
Sometime, perhaps, posterity might honor our heroes…
Boy, do you feel up to it? General, I do!