Amongst the most
troublesome items to deal with were the mules. Sometimes a mule would
suddenly produce a violent uproar in a waggon by beginning to kick, his
hoof against every mule and every mule's hoof against him. Even if these
beasties were taken out of the waggon to be watered their behaviour was
unseemly. A soldier would with infinite patience marshal the mules in
line with himself, their halters all tied together. The march would then
begin, but within half a dozen yards the mules in the centre would press
forward till the whole thing looked like a Pyrrhic phalanx. The wearied
soldier would then smite the aggressive animals, and, after a few more
strides, the centre mules would hang back while the wings would close
in, and then, as confusion became worse confounded, some of the restless
brutes would commence to roll, and the group finally resembled a sort of
mulish "scrum" with the soldier on his back as football.
There were, of course, various camp services on Christmas Day: most of
my comrades on the train went to the little Episcopal Church in De Aar.
The Church of England community in this out-of-the-way village numbers
some fifty all told. Nevertheless these churchmen had contrived to build
a pretty little church and their services were very hearty. Officers,
men, and two Red Cross sisters formed the bulk of the congregation and
we listened to a delightful sermonette written and delivered in
excellent style by the good Vicar, an old Corpus man at Oxford.
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