A reminder that the Great War was a world war came with a letter to Mrs Mares, of George Street, from her grandson, Pte J. Mares, 193, of the Medical Section of the 1st South African Rifles, from N'Gara Hospital near Lake Nyasa. Unlike her letter to him, which had taken five months to arrive, his reached Luton in three months.

Since leaving Kavanga, he says the force to which he is attached has had but little excitement. Occasionally when they go out on patrol they meet with the Germans, and then "the band begins to play". The Colonials generally give a good account of themselves, and the German native soldiers will not face them, so they were not having as much fighting as they hoped for. Hence the South Africans were getting impatient, as camp life does not suit them, and they want to get to Europe before the war is over.

On Christmas Eve, says Pte Mares, about 8.30 the alarm sounded and all made a rush for the trenches, the idea being that the Germans were in force two miles away, and were expected to attack during the night. But they didn't come any nearer all night, and some nice things were said about the Kaiser, and all made up their minds to give them a licking on the first opportunity for spoiling their concert and keeping them out of their blankets all night.

Pte Mares says that the country teems with game, and once in the jungle one can get as much games as he can carry. He has shot quite a number of different kinds of buck, and also three crocodiles. He is known in his corps as "Dead Shot Jack," and his comrades like to see him go out, as it always means venison for a couple of days.

Pte Mares hopes to take home with him a collection of buck skins, including a big eland, a koodoo, a waterbuck, a reed buck, a wildebeest, a heart's beast, and also one of a leopard which he is very proud of. But he hopes soon to add a lion skin to the number.

The Colonial's descriptions of the terrors of insect life in the region are certainly not calculated to make one wish to experience their undesirable attentions. He states that there are thousands of different kinds of insects. Most of them get on the move about sundown, and all have ways and means of irritating unlucky mankind in their proximity.

The mosquitoes, he says, are as strong as lions, and can sting a man right through his blankets, so as soon as they can get to bed they do so and tuck the ends of their nets under the blankets. But the mosquito generally manages to get into these, and one must beware, for if by any chance he has forgotten his quinine, a dose of malaria will ensue.

Then there is a small fly which gets into the clothing and blankets. When stinging anyone this fly dies, but lays an egg which a few days after hatches out a white worm from a most painful boil. Great care has to be exercised in ejecting it lest any portion of it is left in the system to propagate its species and impoverish your blood, death eventually taking place.

Another lively customer is an ant which, in running along your leg, leaves a string of blisters which cause painful sores. There are so many others, all of which sting one in cruel fashion, and the smaller they are the more intense the pain.

In concluding, Pte Mares says he thinks that any man who stays at home at a time like this is not fit to be called a Britisher. He writes: "Why, even the Zulus and many other native tribes are itching to have a chance of fighting for their King and country, I should think the men who stay at home, when they read the papers and find that the black men of Africa are only too willing to take their places in the firing line, must feel thoroughly ashamed of themselves for not joining and serving under the flag which has protected them since they were born."

[The Luton News: Thursday, June 15th, 1916]