Writing to his mother about the battle of Elandslaagte with the Boers in 1899, a British officer said:
I lay where I fell for about three-quarters of an hour, when a doctor came and put a field-dressing on my wound, put my helmet under my head as a pillow, gave me some brandy, and then went to look after some other poor beggar. The torrents of rain never stopped. In addition to the agony which my wound gave me, I had two sharp stones running into my back. I was soaked to the skin and bitterly cold, but had an awful thirst. On one side of me was a Gordon Highlander in raving delirium, and on the other a Boer who gave vent to the most heartrending groans. I was taken to hospital 17 hours after I was hit.
War is a funny game, mother, and no one can realise what its grim horrors are like till they see it in all its barbarous reality.
一英國軍官致函母親，談到一八九九年和波爾人在伊蘭斯拉特的一戰：
我倒地之後，一直躺在那裏，大約過了四分之三小時，一個醫生走來，給我的傷口作戰場包紮，把我的頭盔放在我頭下作枕，給我喝些白蘭地，然後去照顧另一些苦人兒。滂沱大雨下個不停，除了傷處劇痛，還有兩塊尖石插進我背部。我渾身濕透，冷得要命，口渴難當。我的一旁有個戈登高地軍團士兵，神智不清，胡言亂語；另一旁有個波爾人，聲聲呻吟，慘不忍聽。我受傷十七小時之後，終於送到醫院。
母親，戰爭是場古怪遊戲。不是目睹其野蠻的真面目，不可能知其殘酷可怕。