I am far from Nottingham,
Here on the veldt, hunting the Boer.
Harry stole my baccy tin,
Grabbed the photo, tore it.
I punched his face bloody,
Then in the market found a substitute.
She’s black as coal, but never mind –
They’ve posed her right,
Arms raised, tits lifted.
Don’t like the look in her eyes though.
I might not keep her.
[A British Soldier’s Tobacco Tin Containing a Photograph, South Africa, 1889]