The only town which is at all worthy of
the name is Beaufort West, nestling amid its trees, a bright patch of
colour amid the neutral tints of the hills and surrounding country. Here
reside many patients suffering from phthisis, for the air is dry and
warm and the rainfall phenomenally small. But after all what a place to
die in! Rather a shorter and sweeter life in dear England than a cycle
of Beaufort West!
As we steamed into De Aar the sun had set, and all the ways were
darkened, so, after a vain attempt to take a walk about the camp after
the regulation hour, 9 P.M.--an effort which was checked by the
praiseworthy zeal of the Australian military police--we returned to the
train. Here I was greeted to my amazement by the notes of an anthem, "I
will lay me down in peace," sung very well by our Welsh ex-choir-boy and
two other members of the corps, who nevertheless did not lay them down
in peace or otherwise till the small hours of the morning.
Next day we rose early, but found that we should have to spend five or
six days at De Aar. This news was not at all pleasant. I have been in
many dreary and uninteresting spots in the world, _e.g._, Aden or Atbara
Camp, but I have never disliked a place as much as I did De Aar. The
whole plain has been cut up by the incessant movement of guns, transport
waggons and troops, and the result is that one is nearly choked and
blinded by the dense clouds of dust.
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