CHAPTER ONE
âTHE FLAG THAT FLOATS OVER USâ
PATRIOTISM AND SOUTH AFRICA
Under normal circumstances, Dunedin residents being roused from their beds by the tolling of the town hall bell and the piercing shriek of steam whistles would be cause for general alarm. However, the circumstances surrounding this cacophony on 18 May 1900 were anything but normal. If further proof was required, the sight of Robert Chisholm, the mayor of the southern New Zealand city, repeatedly discharging his shotgun into the chilly morning air provided it. As lights appeared in windows across the city the noise increased with the addition of school bells, fire bells, explosions, and rockets arcing across the pre-dawn sky. In response, Dunedinâs citizens spilled onto the streets, enthusiastically striking anything capable of producing a sound, from gongs to empty kerosene tins.1
The cause of these uncharacteristic displays was neither invasion nor emergency. It was confirmation that after a 217-day siege the British Army had finally liberated âdusty, dirty, dilapidated Mafekingââa remote and ordinarily insignificant way station of British imperialism in southern Africa.2 A New Zealander who had been in the town during the siege described Mafeking as âonly a small place (about the size of Patea)â, but for most its size was immaterial.3 What Mafeking had come to represent was far more important, and the celebrations in Dunedin mirrored similar rapturous scenes across the British Empire. The relief of this nondescript town thousands of miles from New Zealand shores had been eagerly anticipated. When the news finally arrived, it unleashed a tumult of patriotism.
To an anxious New Zealand public, the prolonged siege of Mafeking by Boer military forces had seemed interminable. As weeks turned into months, newspapers closely followed the townâs fortunes, with hopes of a British breakthrough dashed as rumours of the townâs imminent relief came to nothing. Admittedly, the lifting of the sieges of the two other South African towns invested by the BoersâKimberley and Ladysmithâhad also resulted in feverish public outpourings. Nonetheless, by the time the first imperial troops trotted into Mafeking the town had become a symbol of British resolve in the face of adversity. That it was besieged in the first place was undoubtedly a British reverse, but the empire had been spared a morale-sapping capitulation. Even if holding out longer came largely at the expense of Mafekingâs starving black African population, the refusal of the townâs commanding officer, Colonel Robert Baden-Powell, to surrender was seen as an exemplar of British determination and pluck.
As the sieges showed, the warâs initial progress had hardly been encouraging. While New Zealanders familiar with Boer tenacity had initially expressed reservations, once hostilities broke out in October 1899 the general expectation was for a swift British victory. With the overwhelming might of British arms brought to bear on the numerically smaller Boer forces, Britain would surely prevail. Three months prior to the declaration of war, the Feilding Star optimistically predicted that within a week of warâs outbreak all of Transvaal would be part of the British Empire: âEngland would crush the Transvaal as a giant would crush a worm.â4
But it soon became clear that Boer leaders had no intention of meekly accepting peace on imperial terms. Seizing the initiative, they took advantage of Britainâs lack of preparedness. Before vessels carrying reinforcements could dock at Cape Town and Durban, disgorge their khaki cargoes and turn the tables in Britainâs favour, the Boers hoped to use force to lever political advantage. For the British, the enemyâs resolve proved as disturbing as it was unpalatable. There were no decisive victories cast in the mould of Lord Kitchenerâs 1898 rout of Mahdist forces at Omdurman in Sudan. Instead, in the initial stages of the war the British public was forced to subsist on a diet of humiliating defeats and inconclusive victories. At the battles of Magersfontein, Stormberg and Colenso in December 1899, British troops were repulsed with heavy losses. Rather than accept battle on British terms, the Boers engaged the enemy from concealed defensive positions. Their kommandos used their mobility and superior knowledge of the terrain to inflict British casualties and withdraw when their positions became untenable.
Shortly before the war, the New Zealand premier, Richard John Seddon, addressed the House of Representatives. Seddon claimed it was well known what New Zealand was prepared to do âto maintain the good old British flagâ should necessity arise.5 He also spoke of wiping out the stains of the military defeats the British had sustained at the hands of the Boers at Majuba Hill and Bronkhorstspruit during the First Anglo-Boer War.6 There was a widespread belief that the British had unfinished business in South Africa. In time for Christmas 1899, the British childrenâs annual Chatterbox was sold in New Zealand bookstores.7 It featured an account of the âingloriousâ fight at Majuba that also spoke of âwiping out the stain of that defeatâ.8 A reporter who visited a Dunedin school classroom in December 1899 said that all the children in the class raised their hands when asked about Majuba.9
The New Zealand governor, Lord Ranfurly, echoed Seddonâs views, telling Wanganui Collegiate School students that Majuba Hill and the death of General Charles Gordon at the Mahdist siege of Khartoum were stains on Great Britainâs reputation.10 However, by the early months of 1900 the overarching desire to avoid further costly defeats meant that if the British public could not have another Omdurman in southern Africa, they at least wished to be spared the ignominy of another humiliating Khartoum at Mafeking. Mayor Chisholm informed the Dunedin crowd that the relief of Mafeking was the best news they had received since the war began.11
In the preceding days the excitement had been palpable as British forces edged closer to Mafeking. The MHR for the City of Auckland electorate, George Fowlds, suggested that regardless of the hour when news of the relief was received guns in the cityâs forts should be fired.12 Having first sought Lord Ranfurlyâs permission, Seddon instructed Lieutenant-Colonel Arthur Penton, the Commandant of Forces, to have âroyal salutesâ at the ready.13 The long-awaited news finally reached Wakapuaka Cable Station on the Nelson coast at two in the morning on 18 May and was transmitted to the Otago Daily Timesâ Dunedin offices. Despite the hour, the newspaper notified Chisholm who decided that although the news was not official the city should be informed at 6 a.m. by the tolling of the town hall bell. The newspaper portrayed the lifting of the siege as much more than simply a strategic reverse for a Boer enemy forced into retreat; âMafeking Relieved!â screamed the oversized headline.14
Across the empire, Baden-Powell became the âHero of Mafekingâ. He may not have delivered a decisive victory, and a New Zealand churchman questioned the morality of his tactics, but at least he had prevented another demoralising defeat and restored British military pride following the earlier embarrassments.15 In stark contrast to press portrayals of Baden-Powell, the Otago Daily Times characterised the besiegers as the ârefuse of the Boer army, together with the scum of Europeâ and claimed General J. P. Snyman, the Boer commander, âand his devilish crewâ had âput the very savages to shame by their campaign of systematised savageryâ.16
After Chisholmâs declaration of a half-holiday, normal business in Dunedin ground almost to a standstill. Following the delivery of patriotic speeches marking the occasion, both the stock exchanges suspended trading, with many of their members retiring to the Otago Club.17 Work ceased at Port Chalmers, where vessels were decorated with flags and bunting, and Hillside Railway Workshops staff downed tools and readied their parade banners.
As the news spread, schools joined the festivities, with Arthur Street schoolboys ringing the school bell continuously for two hours. After erecting an image of Baden-Powell featuring the words âBritish pluck for everâ, the children joined the throng gathering in the city. At Union Street School, President Kruger was burned in effigy, after which the schoolâs cadets fired a volley of blank cartridges. Noting Baden-Powellâs loyalty, the headmaster of High Street School advised his children to follow the officerâs example and remain loyal to their teachers, their school, their empire and their queen. By early afternoon, parade participants had gathered in marshalling areas in the crowded Octagon. The procession represented a cross-section of Dunedinâs citizens, including bands, Volunteer and cadet corps, football clubs, city councillors, students, nurses, timber workers, jockeys, railway employees, butchers, paper mill workers, Fullerâs Vaudeville Company and âtwo niggers in a gigâ.18
Press photographs captured the scale of the celebrations.19 Amid the sea of humanity in the Octagon, boys climbed light standards to secure a better vantage point. Others occupied the second storey of Grayâs Oban Hotel or peered from the windows of Mills, Dick and Co. Printery above the Edinburgh Dining Rooms. Still more packed the windows of the Otago Cycling Club, while men viewing the spectacle from the roof of Jolly, Connor and Company Printing Works dangled their legs precariously over the edge.
A crowd throngs the Dunedin Octagon in May 1900 following receipt of news of t...