Poems

The Transvaal Contingent

from Nalder, M. Battle-smoke Ballads, or, Poems of the Transvaal War. (1899)

Hear a reading of this poem (by Pamela Fleming). (mp3, 377k)

From Bluff to Cape Maria New Zealand is agreed;
She thanks her Representatives for generous thought and deed.
She turns with joy from squabbles - from Party's petty aim -
To feel she still has statesman well worthy of the name.

The mingled crosses on our Flag- the emblems of our Home-
Fill but a little corner, like the Islands whence we come;
But the Field spreads out its folds around the red, or white or blue
In which the stars of kindred lands are coming into view.

True, England does not need our help to smite her present foe;
There's little on the surface, but much going on below;
Aye, others worse than Kruger, with hostile hearts unseen,
Appreciate the meaning of that loud "God Save the Queen."

For it means that when the Empire sustains her foes' attack,
When the colours of the Ensign are swathed in clouds of black,
Through that dark night of tempest, though scanty and untried,
The Southern Stars of kindred lands will shine by England's side.

Imperial Federation! What stronger can there be,
Than sending forth our choicest, as gifts unasked and free?
It means the Colonies are bound by ties of Love and Life
In danger's hour to triumph or to fall in England's' strife;

That in the Union's mighty Field, in battle's darkest night,
The Southern Constellations shall blaze in Empire's fight;
Aye, more - we know that should we meet a banded World's attack
Those other glorious Stars and Stripes shall fight `longside the Jack.

The Empire thanks with Seddon - all parties (friends or foes) -
Who seized the great occasion and nobly to it rose,
Upheld New Zealand's honour and recognised the time
When faltering were infamy, when meanness were a Crime.

Now proudly to the breezes New Zealand's flag we yield,
The Union in its corner - the Stars upon its Field.
The Fernleaf and the Rata entwined in Empire's wreath,
"God Save the Queen" resounding from loyal hearts beneath.

What Time the Bugle Blew

from Nalder, M. Battle-smoke Ballads, or, Poems of the Transvaal War. (1899)

From kauri-clad Wairoa
Rich in her tropic charms, -
Otago's rugged stations, -
And Canterbury's farms;
From where the West Coast miners
Toil for the coal and gold -
From boiling Rotorua -
From Southern Ranges cold -
From hill and bay and headland,
In all the country through -
They rallied to the Red Cross
What time the bugle blew.

Yes! 'Twas the bugle blew!
The Empire's summons flew;
The Long White Cloud re-echoed loud,
What time the bugle blew!

On Afric's rock-strewn sand-wastes -
On kopje, spruit and veldt,
The burning day, the chilling night,
Hunger and thirst they felt.
The hard and constant duty -
The skirmish or attack -
The hillside bare, the scanty fare -
The lonely bivouac;
Ten months of stern warfare,
Nor rest, nor pause, they knew -
But they were there when wanted
What time the bugle blew.

Yes - when the bugle blew
Weary and worn and few,
They did what they were asked to do
Whene'er the bugle blew

They fought `neath famous leaders,
Alongside comrades bold,
Whose names ring out like clarions
Where'er war's tale is told.
Their foe was brave and stubborn,
Who mostly smote unseen -
Fever and ball drank up their blood,
Their baptism was keen.
Did they disgrace the Southern Stars
That gave the Field of Blue?
Go, ask the men who watched them,/What time the bugle blew!
No! When the bugle blew
They did what they could do;
Zealandia's sons were 'mid the guns
What time the bugle blew.

Now many are returning,
Shattered in health and frame;
And many sleep beneath the sand
For Queen and Empire's fame.
But Anglo-Saxon deeds and blood
Aye grapple friendship fast,
And like the glowing Future
To the mighty storied Past.
Now when their homeward tramp resounds
Where fern and rata grow,
The heart and hand of Maoriland
Bids Honour's bugle blow.

That heart - that hand - are due
To those whose laurels grew
Twined round the Southern Standard
What time the bugle blew.

Dauntless Dan

From Maurice McGill of Napier - a poem about his father that appeared in Wellington newspapers at the time he sailed to SA with the Fifth Contingent

The cry went up for volunteers
To join the battle van
And then we gave three lusty cheers
And said here's Dauntless Dan!
For years upon the football field*
He's been well to the fore
But to no living man he'll yield
In hatred of the Boer
They tried his ardour for to damp
By regulations stringent
But now he's in the Newtown Camp
Among the Fifth Contingent
They took him to the rifle butts
To try how he could aim
Although they said both eyes he shut
He got there all the same
He passed well through the riding test
Without a single spill
And now he ranks among the best
Does the Dauntless Dan McGill

*Daniel represented Wellington at rugby in 1893

Untitled

From an Auckland South African War Veterans' Association condolence card supplied by Wally Swainson of Tuakau

The glamour gone, some scattered graves and memories dim remain:
With his old pals across the field, he'll never trek again;
But yet there's nothing he regrets as he awaits his Call,
For what was done or lost or won, he did his bit-that's all. Sergeant 4486*

*According to our database, this regimental number belonged to Sergeant David Wilson of the Seventh Contingent

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