Unbanned Bible Publications

Defending God’s Truth in Church Doctrine and Political History   –    Renette Vermeulen

(Continued from) 


Whatishappeninginsouthafrica.blogs wrote, “The detainees received no fruit or vegetables; not even milk for the babies.  The meat and flour issued were crawling with maggots.” 

Emily Hothouse wrote, “I have in my possession coffee and sugar which were described as follows by a London analyst: In the case of the first, 66% imitation, and in the case of the second, sweepings from a warehouse [floor.]  In her book, ‘With the Boers in the Field,’

Sara Raal stated, “There were poisonous sulphate of copper, grounded glass, and razor blades in the rations.”  The evidence presented is so overwhelming that it must be regarded as a historical fact… 

A British physician, Dr. Henry Becker, wrote, “First, they [deliberately] chose an ill-suited site for the camp.  Then they supplied so little water that the people could neither wash themselves nor their clothes.  Furthermore, they made no provision for sufficient waste removal.  And lastly, they did not provide enough toilets for the overpopulation they had crammed into the camps.”

I did a thorough search for photos of concentration camp victims.  The photos below are some of the few photos that survived by some miracle.  Most were destroyed to hide British war crimes.


   boer annie.png  boer pietie.png  boer lizzie.png  concentration camp baby.jpg  


  [Acknowledgement to those who compiled the photos and images in this study]

Photo third from the left: The decomposing yet living skeleton of the seven-year old Lizzie van Zyl, only one of the children who were deliberately starved to death in a British hospital to force her parents to surrender to the British crown. 

Emily Hobhouse said of Lizzie van Zyl, “She was a frail, weak little child in desperate need of good care.  Yet, because her mother was one of the ‘undesirables’ due to the fact that her father neither surrendered nor betrayed his people, Lizzie was placed on the lowest rations and so perished with hunger that, after a month in the camp, she was transferred to the new small hospital.  Here she was treated harshly.  The English disposed doctor and his nurses did not understand her language and, as she could not speak English, labeled her as an idiot although she was mentally fit and normal…” 

Lizzie was begging the nurses to allow her to see her mother, as she was lonely, isolated, and suffering a slow death under the ‘care’ of the extremely rude and non-caring doctor and nurses in the ‘hospital.’ They pretended that they did not understand her, thus refusing her dying request. 

Whatishappeninginsouthafrica.blogs states, “Sick people feared the hospitals more than death.  Should a child leave the hospital alive, it was merely a miracle…  The amenities in the camps were clearly planned to kill as many of the women and children as possible.  They were accommodated in tattered reject tents, which offered no protection against the elements.” 

Emily Hobhouse recorded the some of the conditions in one of the camps.  She wrote, “Throughout the night there was a downpour.  Puddles of water were everywhere.  They [diseased, starving women, children and old men] tried to get themselves and their possessions dry on the soaked ground.”  (Hobhouse: Brunt of the War, page 169.) 



Some machine gun wielding terrorists gleefully state, “When we rape we feel completely free!  We can do whatever we want to do!”  How horrifyingly barbaric!  Nonetheless, it is widely believed that the in the Boer War the British were Victorian gentlemen, who could never have been rapists.  Even generations of post-war impoverished Afrikaners were led to believe that the Second ‘Boer’ War was a “gentlemen’s war!”  However, history has proven that English ‘gentlemen’ were merciless torturers and murderers of little babies, children, women, and the elderly, ransacking and burning some 34,000 Boer homes, and destroying millions of livestock in most inhumane ways – but rapists

Surely, Afrikaner and African women would have reported the crime of rape…  And that would have been possible - if only they had someone to report it to.  It was impossible to report rape and other sexual abuse to the rapists themselves, who had ultimate power over you. 

With Afrikaner and African men engaged in a full-blown war against the British Empire and her Allies, Afrikaner and African women and children were fair game for sex-hungry men far away from home. 

Col. Agar Adamson, Canadian soldier under British command, wrote to his wife Mabel, “At Ermelo, I was awakened by a frantic Boer woman telling me that her two daughters were being raped by several soldiers…  I greatly fear that they were ours…”

Artist Willem Boshoff wrote, “At Springfontein, south of Bloemfontein… I discovered a whole field of baby graves far removed from the main cemetery.  I learnt that these were the graves of unbaptised [Calvinist] children – unbaptised because they were born out of wedlock from the union between British soldiers and women in the camp.  I felt as if the soldiers were saying, ‘We do not fare so well with the Boer men – but have you seen what we can do to their women and children!’”

To a very religious, conservative Calvinist woman, the crime of rape would have been such a deadening shame, she would rather have killed herself than speak out against her perpetrator.  She would have been shamed into silence, because to report the crime of rape and sexual abuse during that time would have been utterly life destroying for the victim.  As in many cases today, the victim would have been on trial, not the rapist.  The ‘gentleman’ rapist or child molester would have walked away unaddressed and the crime would have been ‘ignored’ for decency’s sake. 

The only injured party in sexual crimes would have been the ever-suffering, unrecognized victim. 

The writer of geni.com explained correctly that, in the “Victorian era code the words ‘rape’ and ‘sexual abuse’ would have been relayed as ‘molestation.’”  Many women conveyed the message of rape and sexual abuse by saying that the English soldiers ‘molested’ them. 

Very few ‘decent’ people took notice of their ‘complaints.’


The atrocious images of “civilized” British inhumanity to man and beast still reach out to us across the crumbling pages of time.  Not even the one hundred and fifteen years since then, (in 2017,) can obscure the reality of their unbearable pain, loss, sorrow, and humiliation.  As we were not there ourselves, we could probably have romanticized the need and suffering of the innocent and vulnerable.  However, the reality of all this inconceivable affliction is quite another matter.

Should we close our eyes, we would still see the terrifying images of hordes of trained troops from England and her Allied Forces advancing on the Orange Free State and the ZAR.   Half a million troops engage some 64,000 farmers on the battlefield and drive an estimated 107,344 non-white, and 190,000 white women, children and old men from their homes at the barrel of their guns. 

They scorch “an estimated” 34,000 farms with fire and dynamite.  On their way out, the women and older children try desperately to grab a Bible, blankets, pillows, warm clothes and some kitchen utensils.  Outside, whites and non-whites are separated and hastily forced onto wagons.   Old and young, non-white and white, all huddle their children and grandchildren in their arms and watch in wide-eyed disbelief while soldiers, mercenaries, and joiners cheerfully loot their homes and farms.  The dogs bark furiously at first.  Then, distressed yelps cause the children to scream frantically and cover their eyes, as their lifelong guardians and companions are bayoneted before their eyes!  

Men, mad with greed and power, poison the wells, steal the thoroughbred Cape horses from the stables, and stuff their pockets with apricots and peaches from the orchards.  Others take chickens, horse carts, ox wagons, tools, saddles and harnesses from the sheds.  Stiff upper lip British officers browse through the homesteads and choose what they like – a piano, silver cutlery, Grandpa’s yellowwood chair, fine porcelain...  Then, as they escort the people from their farms, soldiers dowse the homesteads, servant-quarters, stables, barns, pens, vegetable gardens and crops with kerosene to set it all ablaze.  Many homesteads and outbuildings are simply blown to pieces with dynamite. 

The surrounding fields and hills shudder under loud, authoritative commands, angry and sorrowful cries, deafening bangs, and the loud crackle of fire.  The frenzied neighing of horses; the bleating of bewildered sheep; the hysterical bellowing of scrambling cattle; the squealing of pigs and the terrified cackle of poultry crescendo to the heavens as British troops bayonet, shoot, kick, and clobber them all to death — or until most are quiet and unable to move but still alive! 

Come; watch the quiet goodbyes as soldiers tear loyal workers and Afrikaner farmers apart.  Children scream with outstretched arms for their nannies and friends, tears streaming down their faces.  These grandfathers, grandmothers, and women grew up together, worked together, laughed together, cried together and suffered together.  Their children all played together and were schooled together.  Now, most sob silently in shock, fear and sorrow, choking on the stench of their burning belongings.  Look at the empty stares and quiet resolve on the faces of South Africa’s dispossessed, displaced peoples.  They sit strangely dignified in the midst of the raging chaos as mounted soldiers cart them further and further away from their loved ones, livelihood, and their familiar family land. 

Now, listen to the voices of thousands upon thousands of homeless victims, accommodated in tattered tents on the open African veldt.  Before hope fades, they softly begin to sing, “Nader my God by U, steeds nader by…” (‘Closer my God to Thee…’)  

Learn from these women, children and old men how to survive the singeing sun of summer with not a tree in sight.  Thick, cold mud, devastating hail and drenching floods in the rainy season.  Bitter frost, snow and the piercing wind of winter.  Typhoid, measles and dysentery without medical supplies.  The scorn and mocking laughter of well-fed soldiers.  Prying eyes and gentlemen’s hands on defenseless female bodies.  Constant discrimination against ‘undesirables’ and deliberate accelerated starvation of their children by halving their rations, because the women refuse to influence their men to pledge allegiance to the British crown. 

Note that some complain loudly about the lack of warmth and medicine; overcrowding in tents, insufficient and dirty water, and the bitterly small rations of food, which many state under oath, are poisoned with crushed glass and strange smelling chemicals.  Look, they have no spare clothing or warm bedding to cover their shivering children, or to protect their own frail and ailing bodies.  Smell the stench of empty cooking fires, mingling with the filth that rises from the camps.  Flinch at the reek of unwashed bodies, the fever on their breaths, the rotting decay of death and famine that continually stalk the camps. 

Silence the wailing of dreadfully hungry, diseased little children and the whispered prayers of desperate mothers.  Hide from the thousands upon thousands of huge, tortured eyes, staring hopelessly from skin-covered skulls.  Refuse the thousands of bony, begging little hands.  Abandon the limp but living skeletons, helplessly wasting away under canvas without something to relieve their pain.  Hush their mourning!  Do not listen as some scream with grief and tear their clothes in sorrow, while others sit stark-faced with clenched lips.  Blot out their wavering hymns.  Then turn away from rows upon rows of shallow graves where thousands upon thousands of skeleton-bodies are layered with earth.  Most are babies, toddlers and children under 15 years of age. 

Never mind the dead; their fight is over.  Pay attention to the women, starkly staring into space, whispering a sinister lullaby while rocking their dead babies in their arms, “Siembamba, Mamma se kindjie… Draai sy nek om, gooi hom in die sloot… Trap op sy kop dan is hy dood!”  (I am a baby, Mamma’s little baby… Wring his neck and toss him in a trench.  Trudge on his head and he is dead!”)  Why would any mother sing such a ghastly lullaby of infanticide (the murdering of babies) — unless those poor, innocent infants were the completely unacceptable by product of war rape and/or even the mothers selling of their bodies to the soldiers for meager portions of food? 

If possible, forget the haunted, expressionless faces of those who miraculously survive.  However, remember to erect memorials for the thousands upon thousands of white and non-white women, children, and old men, who perish under British torture in the Hell Camps.   Then, do not forget to erect another memorial for those who suffer and die unnoticed.  Those, whose deaths are never recorded, because British commanders force down statistics on deaths in the camps. 

Ignoring Britain’s excuses and the denying of war-crime guilt, let us at least remember the Afrikaner and African men on commando.  Cold, starved, and battling against half a million invading  forces until they find themselves on the brink of collapse, some are impoverished to a state where they have to wear grain bags.  They must sleep under the open sky in all weather conditions.  Every moment of their lives, they are in danger of mutilation, capture, starvation, and death.  The measly medical care at their disposal at the beginning of the war has quickly withered away.  Their wounded have no hospitals, doctors, and nurses to take care of them.  With the women and children incarcerated and everything on the farms blackened by fire, the Boers must leave their wounded on the battleground in the hope that the British would take care for them as prisoners of war.  Wounded that fall into English hands are often neglected, treated with disdain, and even executed on capture or surrender — like the many men and young boys whom ‘heroes’ such as “Breaker Morant, Peter HandcockGeorge Witton, Henry Picton, Captain Alfred Taylor and Major Robert Lenehan of the Bushveldt Carbineers (BVC), an irregular regiment of mounted rifles,”  callously murder instead of taking captive — [Wikipedia.] 

Then, finally yet importantly, there are the unrecorded numbers of fighting Burghers and their faithful African supporters, (known as “agterryers” or those who attend the horses and other chores on commando,) who willingly lay down their lives on the battlefield. 

They precede thousands upon thousands who become ‘prisoners of war;’ incarcerated and dying in British camps in South Africa and in foreign British colonies during this ‘civilized’ orgy of death.  Twenty six thousand or more captured and weary Afrikaner men and their Cape rebel allies who miraculously escape execution for ‘high treason’ against Britain out at sea; escorted under duress to different British colonies thousands of miles away.  They are imprisoned in many different concentration camps in India, the Bermudas, and St. Helena.  Abducted from their country, their homes, and their loved-ones, they face timeless banishment, mostly without word from their starving families who still survive.  Their only hope to return to their country is to pledge allegiance to the British crown.  Some refuse for years; alienated in an unfamiliar land; suffering from lack of necessities and strange illnesses that flourish in that tropical climate.  Eventually, from the prisoners of war in British camps, 25% Afrikaners and 12% African men will die in exile.  They are buried and forgotten in some foreign field far, far away – which testifies to the dire conditions in these camps. 

If this does not adequately describe England’s inhumane atrocities, hear the frantic neighing of brave but mangled horses on the battlefield - then watch the starving horses of commandos under siege; they even chew on rocks!  An estimated 300,000 loyal, brave, and willing horses perish in this war – a number unparalleled in warfare!  All of them were capable of carrying a mounted Boer or British soldier as well as his equipment.  Driven up to thirty miles per hour, they unflinchingly carried their masters into combat and helped them make their escape.  Then, there are the mules, donkeys, and workhorses, pulling wagons and ambulances onto the battlefield.  They tremble but stay calm under fire and canon shelling; wholly committed to every command of their masters.  These loyal animals are the true misplaced heroes of all wars before the invention of automobiles. 

Now, feel the helpless anger and desperate sorrow of Boer commandos as they arrive on farms that had been ‘scorched’ some days earlier.  The tail-wagging dogs and meowing cats will never come to greet them again.  The commando finds their fly-infested bodies scattered among the heaps of rubble in the burnt backyard.  In vain, they call for their loved ones and workers.  They search futilely for something usable among their charred belongings and the burnt-out ruins of their homes.  Look into the tear-stained eyes of men who once had been ordinary farmers.  They weep silently for their sweethearts, wives, children, sisters, mothers and fathers; shoulders sagging and jaws clenched. 

Cry out in sorrow as you watch them search the fields.  The crops have all been decimated.  The large orchards - all hewed down and poisoned with kerosene and salt, never to grow again!  The vegetable gardens too - doused and burnt with kerosene! 

Smell the ghastly stench of death as you stare into the frantic, bulging eyes of millions of blood-encrusted, bayoneted sheep and cattle that remained alive.  Many have been suffering for days on end; buried alive among heaps of bloated carcasses.  Shudder to the depths of your soul as you hear the buzzing of billions of flies, mingling with their laborious gasping - undead livestock that desperately yearn for death but cannot find it. 

Witness how these farmers, forged into hardened soldiers by the mayhem of the British Empire, reach for their hunting knives to start the meticulous killing of their tortured livestock. 

Then, in conclusion, cry with me, ‘God!  Oh God!  Deliver humanity, as well as Your innocent, vulnerable creation, from the destruction of the evil one!  If we do not torture and kill one another physically, we do it physiologically, even spiritually!  Father in heaven; let Your Kingdom come, let Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven!’  [1 Jn. 3:15-22.] 

The ‘Boer’ War was never an Afrikaner and African choice.  It was The British War against innocent civilians to gain control of the incalculable rich gold and diamond fields of South Africa.  More than this, it was unscrupulous British expansion in all its ‘gentlemanly,’ murderous glory. 

Besides the fact that it was a Socialist experiment, Queen Victoria and her war commanders raped and ravished a pristine land and all its peoples to satisfy their insatiable greed and militant colonialism.  However, conquering this small, brave nation at the southernmost tip of Africa was only the beginning of their abuse on this continent and against this nation. 

Books & Articles 

Continue to Part 4: ‘Aftermath of the Boer War, poverty and deprivation’ 

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Jewish Holocaust — Truth, or Lie? 

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Þ Whites Dispossessed and Cruelly Murdered: What is Really Happening in South Africa (2018?)

Þ A Prayer for South Africa and the Whole World 

Þ How Do We Prepare for the End of the End-times we are living in