Blaas, Boetie!

Marching in the cadets was a ballache. Once a week we would arrive at school not clad in grey shirts, grey shorts and grey socks, but in khaki shirts, khaki shorts and khaki socks. It was ‘kadet dag’ or something. Softening us up and brainwashing us in the glory of fighting for the vaderland. ThisContinue reading “Blaas, Boetie!”