Detail from The Battle of Isandlwana 22^nd January 1879 by Charles E. Fripp

                                              (National Army Museum, London)

Red-coated soldiers stand silently watching as stiff as the bayonets they bear,

Confident, trusting the weapons they carry and proud of the colour they wear.

Standing in line with their thoughts on their homes in the beautiful land they have left,

Thinking how death on this day would leave fam’lies and loved ones in England bereft.

Suddenly visible high on the hill-top the great Zulu army appears.

 “U-u-usuthu! U-u-usuthu!” chant the black warriors pounding their shields with their spears.

Watching, their General orders a charge and that great army starts down the hill.

Proudly they run at the British below, standing firm in their thin red lines still.

Camped by that hill, a great lion at rest, they had watched their friends leave on that morn.

Chelmsford had heard word of Zulus nearby, and had left with a column at dawn.

Guarding the camp he had left these brave men never thinking their lives were in threat.

Hot is the day now the sun is aloft, and the men are all dripping with sweat.

“U-u-usuthu! U-u-usuthu!” echo more warriors, pounding their shields with their spears.

Stamping their feet on the hard, sun-baked ground, a great noise just like thunder appears.

Into the valley they run at the British, their shields out in front of them held.

Spears at the ready, they charge at the redcoats, by long years of training compelled.    

Rifles start firing as soldiers take aim and some Zulus now meet their demise.

On come these brave men relentlessly forward so dense that they seem just like flies.

Fire from the soldiers is deadly and fast, and so many brave warriors fall.

Faltering now the black horde feels defeat and appears to pull up and recoil.

Down from the hill runs their grey-bearded chief calling out to his men to go on,

“Word from your King to withdraw you have not, and so on, men, till this day is won!”

Utt’ring these words he is shot through the chest - dead as he falls to the ground.

“U-u-usuthu! U-u-usuthu!” chants the whole army.  The valley vibrates with the sound.

Forward they charge again into that still murd’rous fire, which brings more of them down.

Forward they go seeking victory over these men who would steal their King’s crown. 

Forward, for Victory smiles at them now.  They will triumph, defeating this foe.

Forward!  The blood of their enemies, like a great river, will on this day flow.

Smoke from the rifles lies thick on the plain.  It is hard now to see anything. 

British fall suddenly, bleeding from stab wounds as out of the fog Zulus spring.

“Round me, men!” calls a brave officer now as he gathers his troops for a stand.

Forming a square they line up back to back and then die one by one on that land.

On surge the Zulus now thirsting for blood, and with each of them knowing no fear.

Deep in the flesh of another he must, to become a man, wash his sharp spear.

“U-u-usuthu! U-u-usuthu!” chant the brave warriors charging in frenzied stampede.

Right through the British lines hacking their way, quite unstoppable in their great speed.

Colonel Pulleine, in command of the camp, calls out, “Melville, the Colours!  Away!”

Mounting up bearing the standard aloft, Melville rides off away from the fray.

Fighting off Zulus to left and to right, he rides straight for the river beyond

Into the torrent on horseback he plunges in desp’rate attempt to abscond.

Caught by the current he loses his horse but the flag he holds high o’er his head.

Zulus leap into  the water behind him pursuing him as on he sped.

Pulled from the water by comrade in arms he then watches the Colours flow by.

Desp’rately climbing away from the stream, they are caught then and both of them die.

‘Zee-e-e,’out of the grass comes the sound of a million black bees in a swarm.

‘Zee-e-e’, puzzled, the soldiers stand watching as squares for protection they form.

‘Zee-e-e’, humming, the Zulus make ready to charge in one final attack

 ‘Zee-e-e’, out of the long grass they surge forcing Great Britain’s pride to pull back.

Chased by the Zulus the redcoats withdraw as each prays that he might stay alive.

On round the mountain they run for their lives, each man desperate now to survive.

Caught one by one they turn bravely to fight but are finally cut down and killed 

Blood of the flower of Zulu and redcoat is on that day massively spilled.

Younghusband leads his men right up the mountain to gain the advantage of height.

Zulus climb after them, spears at the ready, to carry on with this great fight.

Shaking each man still alive by the hand, the kind officer bids each goodbye.

Charging one last time with bayonets fixed, . . all of them finally die. 

Acrid, white smoke mixed with dense, choking dust hangs now heavily in the still air.

Death adds its own putrid smell to the scene from the corpses all littered round there.

Suddenly darkness falls over the place as the moon passes under the sun.

Warriors stand looking heavenward now in the confidence that they have won.

Only dead redcoats remain on the field.  The great Zulus have carried the day.

Blood lies around them, so thick and so deep, as their own dead they carry away.

Spirits of warriors must be released from each man that is lying dead here

Corpses are split from the groin to the chest with a single great slash of a spear.

Bodies of soldiers, of horses, of oxen, of cattle lie thick on the ground.

Carnage, Destruction and Death drenched in blood are now gorily everywhere found.

Smoke, thick and black from the wagons and tents set afire, fills the darkening air.

Great Britain’s army, so proud and so strong, met its direst Apocalypse there.

Cause for rejoicing the Zulus have not. There is one thing they know very well.

Winning this battle and killing these men is the great Zulu people’s death-knell.

Armies of red-coated soldiers will come and then take their revenge for this day.

Thousands of Zulus will die in more battles.  The spears will be all washed away.

© Ken Wood 2004-6