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With feet as heavy as lead, the Balaam’s-curse now gathers together according to the same kind. Across the dark, sinister river of death, a boat sails to Hades. With only a single, lonely, frightened soul on board. In hell the jollification is exuberantly big. They jeer and scream: Our demonic pig is finally dead now and for his reception we are going big.

Cast into an abomination statue, the binding of the Boer volk now lies revealed. In the hollow sound of a silent salute, in misfire upon misfire. There hell now opens its gate. Therefore woe to the continent of Cush – from South to North. Hell is loose in madness and it is going big.

But listen to the angel-choir. In chorus they sing, note by note: Honour to God, because the abomination-pig is dead. In lyrics the martyrs sing word by word. Yes, they sing: Oh avenge our blood, oh God, like it should. Just look at man’s footprint, made by a beast’s paw.

In unprecedented suffering, our sorrow and pain was so big in our distress. Therefore we glorify and praise eleven November as a day so big. Yes we glorify and praise this day, because the dappled pig is finally dead.