Hellooooooooooooo.

I'm going to talk about a movie I saw last night called Breaker Morant!
It was about the Boer War and about three men that were under arrest because they had followed orders to shoot Boer War prisoners. Their higher ranking officer tried to lie in the court room, even though he was under oath, but the lawyer saw right through it . Lord Kitchener used them as scape goats to end the Boer War.

It all started when they made a raid on a Boer camp and they were given orders to shoot them. When they came back to their camp that's where they were arrested and not given a fair trial. Their lawyer tried his best but they were killed.

Their lawyer said in court,
"They were only following orders, and if every death in this war was a crime then this court room would be full of people. They where doing as they were told to do whether they liked it or not."
So really they were arrested for doing the right thing. And anyone who was going to help them were transferred to India and there was only one or two still in the camp to defend them.
At the end of the film they were in the court yard and over the fence they could hear the other soldiers making their coffins. One of the arrested soldiers was sentenced to go to a penal colony, the other two were sentenced to death by being shot in the morning.

Breaker Morant and Hancock held hands as they were walking to the chairs because they were allowed to sit down when they were shot.
They were offered blindfolds but they refused them.
Breaker Morant said to the soldiers who were going to shoot them,
" Shoot straight you bastards, don't make a mess of it."

Breaker Morant was a well known horse breaker and an excellent poet. He was much liked by Banjo Paterson and Henry Lawson. My mum told me he was married to Daisy Bates, a lady who lived with the aborigines for over 30 years in Western Australia.

This is Breaker Morant's last poem before he was shot:
In prison cell I sadly sit,
A dammed crestfallen chappie,
And own to you I feel a bit--
A little bit -- unhappy.

It really ain't the place nor time
To reel off rhyming diction ;
But yet we'll write a final rhyme
While waiting crucifixion.

No matter what end they decide
Quick-lime? or boiling oil? sir
We'll do our best when crucified
To finish off in style, sir !

But we bequeath a parting tip
For sound advice of such men
Who come across in transport ship
To polish off the Dutchmen.

If you encounter any Boers
You really must not loot ‘em,
And, if you wish to leave these shores,
For pity's sake, don't shoot ‘em.

And if you'd earn a D.S.O.,
Why every British sinner
Should know the proper way to go
Is: Ask the Boer to dinner.

Let's toss a bumper down our throat
Before we pass to heaven,
And toast: "The trim-set petticoat
We leave behind in Devon."