Author: Arthur Conan Doyle

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    They recruited William Evans
    From the ploughtail and the spade;
    Ten years' service in the Devons
    Left him smart as they are made.

    Thirty or a trifle older,
    Rather over six foot high,
    Trim of waist and broad of shoulder,
    Yellow-haired and blue of eye;

    Short of speech and very solid,
    Fixed in purpose as a rock,
    Slow, deliberate, and stolid,
    Of the real West-country stock.

    He had never been to college,
    Got his teaching in the corps,
    You can pick up useful knowledge
    'Twixt Saltash and Singapore.

    Old Field-Cornet Piet van Celling
    Lived just northward of the Vaal,
    And he called his white-washed dwelling,
    Blesbock Farm, Rhenoster Kraal.

    In his politics unbending,
    Stern of speech and grim of face,
    He pursued the never-ending
    Quarrel with the English race.

    Grizzled hair and face of copper,
    Hard as nails from work and sport,
    Just the model of a Dopper
    Of the fierce old fighting sort.

    With a shaggy bearded quota
    On commando at his order,
    He went off with Louis Botha
    Trekking for the British border.

    When Natal was first invaded
    He was fighting night and day,
    Then he scouted and he raided,
    With De Wet and Delaney.

    Till he had a brush with Plumer,
    Got a bullet in his arm,
    And returned in sullen humour
    To the shelter of his farm.

    Now it happened that the Devons,
    Moving up in that direction,
    Sent their Colour-Sergeant Evans
    Foraging with half a section.

    By a friendly Dutchman guided,
    A Van Eloff or De Vilier,
    They were promptly trapped and hided,
    In a manner too familiar.

    When the sudden scrap was ended,
    And they sorted out the bag,
    Sergeant Evans lay extended
    Mauseritis in his leg.

    So the Kaffirs bore him, cursing,
    From the scene of his disaster,
    And they left him to the nursing
    Of the daughters of their master.

    Now the second daughter, Sadie —
    But the subject why pursue?
    Wounded youth and tender lady,
    Ancient tale but ever new.

    On the stoep they spent the gloaming,
    Watched the shadows on the veldt,
    Or she led her cripple roaming
    To the eucalyptus belt.

    He would lie and play with Jacko,
    The baboon from Bushman's Kraal,
    Smoked Magaliesberg tobacco
    While she lisped to him in Taal.

    Till he felt that he had rather
    He had died amid the slaughter,
    If the harshness of the father
    Were not softened in the daughter.

    So he asked an English question,
    And she answered him in Dutch,
    But her smile was a suggestion,
    And he treated it as such.

    Now among Rhenoster kopjes
    Somewhat northward of the Vaal,
    You may see four little chappies,
    Three can walk and one can crawl.

    And the blue of Transvaal heavens
    Is reflected in their eyes,
    Each a little William Evans,
    Smaller model pocket size.

    Each a little Burgher Piet
    Of the hardy Boer race,
    Two great peoples seem to meet
    In the tiny sunburned face.

    And they often greatly wonder
    Why old granddad and Papa,
    Should have been so far asunder,
    Till united by mamma.

    And when asked, "Are you a Boer.
    Or a little Englishman?"
    Each will answer, short and sure,
    "I am a South African."

    But the father answers, chaffing,
    "Africans but British too."
    And the children echo, laughing,
    "Half of mother half of you."

    It may seem a crude example,
    In an isolated case,
    But the story is a sample
    Of the welding of the race.

    So from bloodshed and from sorrow,
    From the pains of yesterday,
    Comes the nation of to-morrow
    Broadly based and built to stay.

    Loyal spirits strong in union,
    Joined by kindred faith and blood;
    Brothers in the wide communion
    Of our sea-girt brotherhood.

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Type of Poem: Narrative Poem

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: This narrative poem tells a story about blending cultures, peace, and unity in the face of adversity, specifically within the context of war. It primarily concerns two characters, an English soldier named William Evans and a Boer farmer named Piet van Celling. The poem uses these characters to represent the larger groups they belong to - the English and the Boers.

The poem's structure is traditional, with a predictable, rhythmic meter and a consistent rhyme scheme, a style that lends a sense of stability and order to the narrative. This is contrasted with the content of the poem, which describes the chaos and violence of war. The poem does not shy away from depicting the harsh realities of conflict, but it also highlights the possibility of unity and healing. This juxtaposition is evident in the way the poem shifts from describing violent scenes of battle to the eventual peaceful union of the two cultures through marriage and family.

The tone of the poem is reflective and hopeful, suggesting the possibility of reconciliation even in the face of deep-seated conflict. The poem also employs vivid imagery and uses specific details to create a sense of place and character. For example, descriptions of the characters’ physical appearances, their behaviors, and their environments paint a vivid picture of these two distinct cultures.

Through the story of William and Piet's family, the poem delivers a powerful message about the potential for unity and harmony amidst conflict. The children, who identify as both English and Boer, symbolize the blending of cultures and the hope for a future where differences are embraced rather than fought over. This central theme, coupled with the poem's excellent use of imagery and its traditional structure, make it a compelling and thought-provoking piece.