Immediately south of Kroonstadt we crossed the Vaal River,
with its fine high-level bridge reduced to atoms by dynamite. This had
given the engineers another opportunity to display their skill by a
clever deviation of a couple of miles in length, winding down almost to
the water-level, and then serenely effecting the crossing by a little
wooden bridge, from which its ruined predecessor was visible about a
quarter of a mile up the stream. Darkness and approaching night then hid
the landscape. That evening we were told we need have no fears, for we
were practically out of the dangerous zone. We dined comfortably in our
compartment, and I heard many more reminiscences of the advance from two
travelling companions who had taken part in it. Suddenly in the next
compartment a party of Canadian officers commenced singing part-songs
with real musical talent. We relapsed into silence as we heard the
"Swanee River" sung more effectively than I have ever heard it before or
since, and it reminded me that we, too, were going home. Presently we
found ourselves joining in the chorus of that most touching melody,
"Going back to Dixie," greatly to the delight of our sociable and
talented neighbours. Daylight next morning brought us to Bloemfontein
and civilization, and what impressed me most was the fact of daily
newspapers being sold at a bookstall, which sight I had not seen for
many months.
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