My wife came out of the concentration camp, and we went together to look at our old farm. My wife had gone into the concentration camp with our two children, but she came out alone. And when I saw her again and noticed the way she had changed, I knew that I, who had been through all the fighting, had not seen the Boer War.

Neither Sannie nor I had the heart to go on farming again on that same place. It would be different without the children playing about the house and getting into mischief. We got paid out some money by the new Government for part of our losses. So I bought a wagon and oxen and left the Free State, which was not even the Free State any longer. It was now called the Orange River Colony.

We trekked right through the Transvaal into the northern part of the Marico Bushveld. Years ago, as a boy, I had trekked through that same country with my parents. Now that I went there again I felt that it was still a good country. It was on the far side of the Dwarsberge, near Derdepoort, that we got a Government farm. Afterwards other farmers trekked in there as well. One or two of them had also come from the Free State, and I knew them. There were also a few Cape rebels whom I had seen on commando. All of us had lost relatives in the war. Some had died in the concentration camps or on the battlefield. Others had been shot for going into rebellion. So, taken all in all, we who had trekked into that part of the Marico that lay nearest the Bechuanaland border were very bitter against the English.

Then it was that the rooinek came.

It was in the first year of our having settled around Derde­poort. We heard that an Englishman had bought a farm next to Ger­hardus Grobbelaar. This was when we were sitting in the voor­kamer of Willem Odendaal’s house, which was used as a post office. Once a week the post-cart came up with letters from Zeerust, and we came together at Willem Odendaal’s house and talked and smoked and drank coffee. Very few of us ever got letters, and then it was mostly demands to pay for the boreholes that had been drilled on our farms or for cement and fencing materials. But every week regularly we went for the post. Sometimes the post-cart didn’t come, because the Groen River was in flood, and we would most of us have gone home without noticing it, if somebody didn’t speak about it.

When Koos Steyn heard that an Englishman was coming to live amongst us he got up from the riempiesbank.

“No, kêrels,” he said. “Always when the Englishman comes, it means that a little later the Boer has got to shift. I’ll pack up my wagon and make coffee, and just trek first thing tomorrow morning.”

Most of us laughed then. Koos Steyn often said funny things like that. But some didn’t laugh. Somehow, there seemed to be too much truth in Koos Steyn’s words.

We discussed the matter and decided that if we Boers in the Marico could help it the rooinek would not stay amongst us too long. About half an hour later one of Willem Odendaal’s children came in and said that there was a strange wagon coming along the big road. We went to the door and looked out.