The following journal was found at The Transvaal in Africa. Some pages were lost in the plains of mud and only a few dates could be recognised, all other dates we’re approximated guesses made by the Archaeologists. This Journal was decrypted by War Archaeologist – Vern Simmons (Great grandson of David Simmons). This historical document was provided by Symon Taylor
Late January
...It was another cold January’s day at the orphanage in Birmingham; another day being trapped here with people just like me; except, I’m the oldest, making me the most responsible. It was the same old thing every morning; I get up, wash my face, and get all the little ones up for breakfast. They all came downstairs by the dozens, all dreary from their trip back to reality. The children were fed and are dressed for school and soon after, I lead the children off towards the local public school. I smiled and waved goodbye to each of them as I headed off to University.
The young ones... how innocent they looked this morning, skipping or plodding along. A pathetic bunch some might call us, because of how pathetic we really are. We all rely on the kindness of humanity in the form of donations; but even that can fail us sometime. Where is our hope? The hope of having parents of our own? Where is our light? To guide us through this empty tunnel? Where is our support? Donations can fail us sometimes...
But there was one thing that kept us going; it was our love of each other in the orphanage, how we were one with the building, and with all of the people inside. No one was left out, we included everyone, even when it came to story time; I would have at least two or three children on my lap. But still, I am a young adult, and I should be leaving the orphanage soon to get a job to help society. I always wonder at night, who will take care of the young ones like I would?
Today, when I first stepped into the University grounds I closed my eyes and smiled, taking a deep breath. My escape from reality; the University, learning can just sometimes lift my mind off other matters, to focus on the knowledge being thrown at us. It was the light at the end of my tunnel, but yet can be the train heading towards me, with massive amounts of assignments.
Every morning when I enter the school grounds, I always see a great lad named Marcus (“Marko”) Smith on one of the front benches with books; loads and loads of books. I love making fun of him, even though he’s like a brother to me, I keep repeating to him that he should get a life instead of burying himself in books. But once I’m done with the teasing, I join studying with him. After a few hours in the University, like always, Marko and I would go to his place to stay for a bit. But today something very different happened.
On the side of the street near Marko’s place, we saw a large crowd build up. I asked one of the chaps what was happening. He told me that there was a war happening in the distant lands of Africa. We walked up to the middle of the crowd and saw a poster with the details of where to sign up. Marko and I had a chat about it, “The possibilities Africa could present us!” we said. An agreement was made between us, to stick together as brothers, and to Africa we shall go...
Early February
...It was hard leaving the orphanage, and it’s harder yet keeping up with the drills they make us do here in the Birmingham training grounds. Plus all that topped on top of keeping Marko together, I heard his mother was not too happy letting us two go. Marko said to me that his mother felt like she was letting two sons go at the same time; boy did that make me smile. But this is, like the poster on the street said, for our country and for the fallen fathers who fought in the first, brief, Boer War.
Marko is sleeping right now on the top of our bunk-bed knowing we have to repeat this hard training session every day until the 20th; my body feels like it has been hit with stones. But I know it will be all worth it when I fight for the closest thing I have to family; Marko’s, my sworn brother’s, father. Marko seemed to keep up fairly well today though, a little struggle on the obstacle course, but otherwise he did fine.
Marko; what a champion. Even though I was the younger and stronger one out of the two of us, he was the smartest one. We were practically opposites, but it was that sense that made us come together like brothers. Back at university I remember if anyone would pick on him, they would have to deal with me, and if I was failing at a subject, I would have to go through one of his mind numbing lectures. But all in all it was great, we were like the markets and the farms, one can’t survive without the other.
Today Marko and I met up with this fellow named Robert Jenkins; I just called him Bob, it seemed more appropriate at the time. He shares the same tent as us; he sleeps on bed 5 row 2. He shares a bunk with a large fellow named Benjamin Leyden, he’s usually very quiet. Marko keeps moving around in his sleep in the bunk above, wonder what he’s dreaming about? Poor lad, I can’t even begin knowing what he’s going through, because I have no parents to feel it with...
19th of February
...Same day as usual, but training has become easier and easier, even Marko is keeping up strong. Heck Bob Jenkins flew right through the obstacle course; he’s really strong for a kid who got beat up by his dad as a child. You can really tell it hurts him inside though, every day he has a look about him, it’s somewhat eluding for some, but I notice more than people give me credit for.
Marko has stopped moving around in his sleep recently; it’s probably because we are being shipped off to Africa tomorrow afternoon. I am very excited myself about tomorrow, we shall get to see Lions! The proud animal of Africa they say it is. I have only seen a few pictures of them from the local photographer back near the orphanage, giant cats the man described them as. Gosh how did I adore Lions, the children at the orphanage knew how much I did and sculpted a lion bed head just for me.
God how I miss the orphanage, the children, my Lion shaped bed, the headmaster getting angry when her tea wasn’t made properly; and how the children used to listen attentively when I told my stories. Their favourite story was one the old headmaster used to tell my generation of orphans; it was called “The Rusty Knight.” It was not a tale of a knight in “Shining Armour,” but of the smart knight who was hard to see in the woods. Almost invisible when near trees, a perfect man for an ambush. His armour was his chivalry, and he only fought for the most valiant lords of the land.
But unfortunately this was an old tale written by a Boer, my enemies. These were the people that killed many brave British soldiers; I will return the favour when my time comes...
28th of February
...Ending the battle of Ladysmith, it was hard and gruesome, but worth it. I am the Awaking Lion who has just tasted blood, now I want more. Exhilarating is how I would describe the passing battle, the Boers didn’t know what hit them when I joined the fight. I used every bit of my rifle, I shot on the mark, I stabbed with my bayonet, and if I did not have time to reload, I would beat my next opponent with my rifle as if it was a stick. Marko on the other hand was lagging behind me, carefully picking his next position after the next and taking his time to aim. It annoyed me it did.
Then there was Bob Jenkins... Robert “Bob” Jenkins... a brave soul the kid was. He stormed the main camp with his unit to blow up their block houses. His unit was successful, but on his retreat an artillery shell went off at his side blowing his arm off. Marko and I saw the whole thing, for we were the unit covering their escape. When we brought Bob in to get patched up, it was already too late. Those god forsaken Boers, those monstrous British hating Boers! It’s their fault Bobby is dead! We may have won the battle because of Bob’s regiment, but that won’t bring him back. People come up to Marko and I saying “We could not have done it without Bobby,” but that won’t bring him back!
The kid got close to Marko and I, he was like our 3rd sworn brother. I shall exact my revenge soon; we will start marching off to Mafeking tomorrow. The Boers would have to wish they had never been born by the time I meet them in battle, my rifle is at the ready, my bayonet is sharpened, and my wits shall pierce the enemy’s hearts with the proud ROAR of my battle cry!...
17th of March
...I lick my wounds and I clean my claws, it’s the night ending the Mafeking battle. The Boers got what they deserve, but apparently they put up a good fight. They were more morally uplifted, while our troops were still tired from the last battle and the walk here. A bunch of pansies they are, including Marko, he got mad at me because “I apparently” revealed our position. I can’t help it if I wanted to kill the lot of them, I might have killed the cannon operator who shot the shell that blew up Bobby. All I did was charge out into enemy lines killing ever damn Boer I saw. All in all, it was necessary, the bastards deserved it.
A few hours ago, Marko started to shout at me, after his lecture from General Roberts. He must have been cranky after the battle, or just really tired, he didn’t know what he was saying. Marko kept saying things like “We almost lost because of your bloodlust!” or “The plan was all set, why in all hell did you not follow it!?” and “I’m the one who is being held responsible for your damn actions!”
I don’t care about the damn tactics, I make my own plan, kill the bastards and live another day. Marko decided to take it a bit further and blame my bloodlust on Bobby’s death. I punched him in the face when he said that, then I told him that no matter how many Boer’s I kill, it will never bring back Bobby. But like always, Marko was right, he’s always right, but it’s just sometimes I get so frustrated that he is always right. That’s why I punched him, and that’s why I lied. We’ve become a bit distant now, don’t know if he’ll forgive me or not, we shall just have to see where the future takes us.
We’re heading off to Johannesburg next; they say there we will have a memorial service for all those who have died thus far.
21st of July
...It’s been 4 months walking to Johannesburg, 4 long muddy months, and they say it will be another month before we reach the city though, another month until I, well, we can properly say goodbye to Bobby. Marko has been even more distant than usual, yet, he is always hovering around me. Not sure what’s wrong with the chap, I didn’t punch him that hard. Probably because of what I had done, I am supposed to be his brother for Pete’s sake. I’ll find a right time to talk to him, but for now, I will leave him be.
It is night time right now, and I’m outside by the fire place. I looked up to see the stars, there’s so many of them. They say that when we die our spirits are sent to God to be transformed into the bright lights in the sky. I hope when I die, I would be close to Leo, the Lion star sign; or next to my brother, in an everlasting eternity.
Marko is in his tent sleeping, I never get much sleep anymore after that incident in Mafeking. It was an epiphany for me, my bloodlust was taking over me, I wasn’t thinking straight. I snapped myself out of it when Marko left the tent that evening. How stupid could I have been?
I can hear in the distance the mighty roar of the Alpha Lion, maybe he’s won a territorial fight, or found dinner for his pride. But that’s what I sounded like when I rushed out into the battle at Mafeking. My pride, my lust, and my vengeance were all that could be heard. That day still echoes through my mind over and over again.
While looking back at the stars, I begin to wonder to myself: Why are we here? Why didn’t the war against the Boers end the first time? I know we’re avenging past soldiers, but what for? What is so special about Africa? Other than the Lions of course.
It makes me wonder at night, what is it all for? I went around to numerous people, except Marko, and asked the question to them; they began to wonder as I did. Even the generals and corporals wondered the same thing; there was something more to Africa, if Mother Britain wanted it so much...
1st of September
...What a walk it was from there to here, but we got our lucky break; the Boer’s left Johannesburg before we got here, and the towns people were more than friendly. We marched into the town yesterday and what a damn right mess this town’s in, even the central clock tower had a hole in it, and I don’t know if anyone noticed it except me. We just had a memorial service today, what a burden off my shoulders, I could finally say goodbye to Bobby and the rest of my fallen brethren.
It was at the service where Marko and I made amends, I said sorry to him for being such a git, and that he was right all along. We made up and now we’re talking again, well, slowly starting to. He may not show it all the time but I know deep inside of him he is always thinking of his mother, his poor mother; frozen still in the cold depths of Birmingham, England.
Still reminds me of the children at the orphanage, I can still see their faces locked within my mind. Carlton, Patrick, Lily, Bradliegh, Bryony, Samantha, Susan and Billy; they were my favourites in the orphanage. Even though we were all brothers and sisters in cause, these 8 were here the longest with me, and knew me the most. They were my pride, and I was the Alpha Lion, we all provided for each other.
The last month walking here was the worse; I am still trying to clean the mud off my boots. The rain didn’t help either; I had to replace all of my ammunition because all of the gunpowder was wet. Marko laughed at the sight of me draining my munitions one by one, wasn’t that funny. What a waste, but at least I can relax, at least until the 30th, they say that the battle in the Transvaal would be one of our greatest battles yet.
But I still wonder, what is this all for? I asked around even more, and I heard rumours of gold! If that is what this war was fought over, I think I have lost my faith in humanity...
29th of September
...A girl, Marko is upset with me because I’m chasing a girl. He’s acting like the jealous minor Lion in the pride who wants to be the Alpha. I met her the day after the memorial service; she came on to me like sour cream on a baked potato. It’s the spoils of war; I have to have a bit of fun while I’m in town, or else I might go mad. You see a lot in war, and you need something to distract you from it. She was my distraction.
By the way Marko looks at her; I can tell that he doesn’t like her. I don’t know what’s wrong with the chap anymore, she’s always nice to him, but he just turns a blind eye. Marko tries to avoid me now, becoming distant but yet close once again. He’s always watching me, I can feel it in my gut, even if I can’t see him physically, I know he’s always somewhat lost in the crowd near me.
I said sorry to the boy, isn’t that enough? I just don’t get it, if he hates my girlfriend and me so, why is he always sticking close to me? I don’t know how he copes with me, my arrogance, my lust for Boer blood, and my stupidity with tactics. I’m going to prove myself to him when we get to the Transvaal; I want to remind him that he is still my brother in both cause, and spirit.
We leave here tomorrow, luckily I married that girl in town, Marko doesn’t know though. I just wanted someone to carry my name through the generations. The night of our wedding was wondrous, when the Alpha Lion would make an heir to his throne. She was brilliant, the most wonderful wife a man could have. Beautiful, caring and in-tune with my needs she is, but alas will I have to leave her.
She’s lying there next to me in my bed while I write this; her beauty makes the moon’s light illuminate on her skin like an angel. My Lioness, her stomach is starting to bulge with my heir to my throne; my achievement in life. But, like my father, I would have to leave him wondering who his father was. But at least he has a mother, a mother who will look after my little cub.
It’s Marko’s life all over again. His father impregnated his mother before leaving to go off to the first Boer War; Marko has only seen pictures of him. He’s more fortunate, my wife and I do not have the luxury of cameras or time. My heir will have to become strong without me; he will have to be better than me, for my heir has a mother, something I grew without. Tomorrow shall be my day of atonement to my brother, to say sorry for my past actions. I don’t care why I’m here anymore, I don’t care about our leaders and what they stand for, Marko needs a brother right now, and I’ll be there...
22nd of October
...Marko is still the same, god how I feel guilty about it. We spent a whole month in Johannesburg, and only a few days were spent with Marko. I’m his brother for GOD’S SAKE! How much of an idiot can I be!? I was right; my wife was a distraction, a distraction from reality! Marko, the closest thing I have to family... how could I be so stupid.
We have made it to the Transvaal and have set up to defend against a Boer ambush (information provided by our scout’s). Marko’s on the other side, making sure that everything’s in place. God what a soldier, he knows what he’s doing, and what is happening next. What a fine chap. He still hovers around me, as if I had an aura about me, and strange looks always detail his face. It’s strange how this happens, I don’t know if his looks are in the cause of evil, or is he still looking up to me? After all I have done to him, he’s still not angry with me? I can hear the Boer cavalry approaching, and my claws are starting to unsheathe...
*Date unknown*
...Blood pours out my side into the mud beneath me as I write the last words of David Simmons. My head is light, and the world darkens. Marko has just crawled towards me, and has put his hand on my arm before he died. He remembered it was my birthday, or the day I was found on the streets. I am lucky I brought my journal to the battle, to die while giving my last words. I reach towards Marko’s hand and grab it with mine, this is how we die, the Alpha Lions...
