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  1. #1
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    Default Eyewitness account of Spioenkop

    Yevgeny Avgustus, a Russian volunteer with the Boers, first saw action during the Battle of Spion Kop. Here is his description of that episode:


    "Once we left the gully, my heart started to sink from the premonition of the proximity of inevitable death. My eyes moved over the numerous maimed bodies, already abandoned by the medical orderlies, to the squatting blacks, who had been left behind to look after the horses.

    ‘If only I could stay with them’, I thought for a second.
    I do not remember how I came to find myself under fire, the motionless rocks seeming to shake and tremble among the roar of the shooting.

    In front of me, right next to me, and at my feet, bullets were tumbling down, digging into the ground, or bouncing off rocks. Over my head, like the rustling of the wings of a gigantic bird, bombs buzzed closer and closer. Then, all at once, everything became foggy as a cloud of dust and soil was thrown up high, my brain shaken by the sudden explosion of a lyddite monster.

    ‘Kom aan, kêrels!’ I heard somebody bellow huskily.
    Figures of Boers darted past me in the green grass and disappeared beneath the sharp edges of the rocks. I was gripped by an irrepressible urge forwards. As if mesmerised, deafened by the infernal roar, blinded by the bright sunlight, I burst ahead. The summit crowned, with several crooked mimosas spread over there. There are shapeless barriers over there, I thought, the British are there.

    The Boers were lying behind rocks. It was as if they froze, blending in with protruding bits of earth that sheltered them from the volleys of the enemy. Without fuss or agitation, they firmly squeezed the butts of their rifles to them and waited, patiently as rapacious kites, for the sight of a yellow helmet or the glint of a bayonet.
    To my right, frequent rifle shots started to crackle. Cartridge cases and clips glittered. I felt a tickle in my throat from the acrid powder fumes.

    Over the barriers, countless shrapnel shots burst, and the smoke of the shells slowly spread over us, obscuring the bright sunlight with its shroud. The British were just 100 to 150 steps from us. We could see some confusion in the mass of the yellow helmets, and some odd waving of arms.
    Feeling neither bloodthirstiness nor the ‘epic sentiment’, so celebrated by verse-makers, at the chaotic height of this ruthless carnage, I had already emptied all the pockets of my bandolier.
    Then, there came Wagner, my unforgettable royal horse artilleryman, crawling towards me like a crab.
    ‘A match, please.’ He asked me, ‘I’d like to smoke!’ On his face, dirty with clods of soil and thin streams of coagulated blood, flashed such a calm smile that I immediately came to my senses.
    ‘Herr Wagner, when will it end?’ I asked.
    ‘Oh, quite soon, apparently!’

    Then, as if in confirmation of his words, a white cloth appeared over the banks.
    The shooting stopped.
    The Boers lying next to us happily got up on their feet.
    ‘Skiet nie, kêrels! Skiet nie!’ they shouted and ran forwards, but, suddenly, the white flag disappeared.

    The shooting resumed, with more bitterness.

    Over there, behind the barriers, a group of people appeared. Stumbling along and falling down, they rushed at us. What was this? A sally? A bayonet charge?
    And we…? We had almost run out of cartridges, and had no bayonets.
    The Boers, scattered over the slope, could hardly withstand a concerted bayonet attack. But then we saw that the British, having thrown their rifles away and risen with their hands up, were running straight towards us, offering themselves to us as prisoners.
    One of them, with a blackened face and inflamed eyes, threw himself on me like an animal.
    Instinctively, I brandished the butt of my rifle, but he fell down to the flask with a wild wheeze and started drinking water in convulsive gulps, as someone dying of thirst.

    Both the Boers and the British, who had been killing each other with the bloodthirstiness of enraged cannibals a minute before, now crowded together, black with soot, splattered with the blood and brains of their fallen comrades, exhausted, worn out by twelve hours of fighting, to share a flask and the last rusk as brothers do."

    The above is an excerpt from the book depicted in the second photo below.
    It is a recent translation from Russian and is available in print.
    As I understand from the comments below the original posting of this on the historic Facebook page (link below) I copied this from, the translator developed his interest in South Africa after serving in the Angolan Bush War on the Soviet side during the 80's.





    Source: https://web.facebook.com/groups/Angl...4616371959182/

  2. #2

    Default Re: Eyewitness account of Spioenkop

    Fascinating especially that bit about the translator on the "other" side in Angola.
    Thanks Daan.

  3. #3
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    Default Re: Eyewitness account of Spioenkop

    Incredible. Be that as it may, I'd buy the book.

  4. #4
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    Default Re: Eyewitness account of Spioenkop

    Thanks for the share, great read.

  5. #5
    Moderator KK20's Avatar
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    Default Re: Eyewitness account of Spioenkop

    Thank you Daan.
    live out your imagination , not your history.

  6. #6

    Default Re: Eyewitness account of Spioenkop

    Thank you, I am going to get it.

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