Letter from a Freestate farm kid, now doing basic training in a
commando unit in South Afrika.

Dear Ma and Pa,

I am well. Hope you are. Tell my boetie Wouter and my other boetie
Koos, that being in the Kommandos beats working for oom Piet by a mile. Tell them to join up quick before maybe all of the places are filled.
I was restless at first because you got to stay in bed till nearly 6
am, but am now starting to enjoying sleeping late. Tell Koos and Wouter
all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot and shine something. No
varke to feed, no cows to milk, no mampoer to mix or braai wood to split.
Practically nothing. Manne get to shave but it is not so bad, there is
warm water.

Breakfast is strong on fruit juice, pap, eggs, bacon, etc.. but short
on steaks, boerewors, chops, potatoes and other regular food like
vetkoek. But tell my boeties you can always sit between two dorpies that live on coffee. Their food plus yours holds you till noon, when you get fed
again.

These city boys can't walk much. We go on "route" marches, which the
Sersant says are long walks to harden us. If he thinks so, it is not
my place to tell him different. A "route" march is about as far as to our
postbox at home. Then the dorpies from the city get sore feet and we
all ride back in trucks. The country is nice, but awful flat.

This next bit will kill my boeties with laughter. I keep getting
medals for shooting. I don't know why. The bulls-eye is near as big as a
dassie's head and doesn't move at all. And it isn't shooting back at
you like those bliksemse Venter boys from the next door plaas. All you
have to do is lie there all rustig like and hit it. You don't even have to
make your own cartridges - they come in boxes.

Then we have what they call hand-to-hand combat training. You get to
wrestle with the dorpies from the city. I have to be really careful
though, they break real easy. It's not like fighting with Swart Duivel,
our old bull at home. I'm about the best they got in this platoon
except for that Groot Jan Jordaan from Commando Training somewhere in the Noord Transvaal. He joined the same time as me. But I am only 5'6" and 130 pounds and he is 6'8" and weighs over 300 pounds, dry.
Be sure to tell my boeties to hurry and join before other okes find
out about this Kommando setup, and come stampeding in.

Your loving daughter,

ESTER.

I'm not going to pretend I understood that at all. But I've heard something similar

How come I have only just seen this? How funny was that!!!!

lmao! awesome ^_^

Seen this before.
This version is that good.

Dang I know some females like that in my unit.

same story, new version, still funny

Hmmm, looks stunningly similar to this.

THE AUSTRALIAN ARMY
Letter from a kid from Eromanga to Mum and Dad. [Eromanga is a
small town
west of Quilpie in the far south west of Queensland]

Dear Mum & Dad,
I am well. Hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil
that the Army is better than workin' on the farm - tell them to get in
bloody quick smart before the jobs are all gone!

I wuz a bit slow in settling down at first, because ya don't hafta
get outta bed until 6am. But I like sleeping in now, cuz all you gotta do
before brekky is make ya bed and shine ya boots and clean ya uniform.
No bloody cows to milk, no calves to feed, no feed to stack -
nothin'!!

Blokes haz gotta shave though, but its not so bad, coz there's
lotsa hot water and even a light to see what ya doing! At brekky ya get
cereal, fruit and eggs but there's no kangaroo steaks or possum stew like wot Mum makes. You don't get fed again until noon, and by that time all the city boys are buggered because we've been on a 'route march' - geez its only just like walking to the windmill in the back paddock!!

This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep
getting awards for shooting - dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a bloody possum's bum and it don't move and its not firing back at yer like the Johnsons did when our scrubber bull got into their prize cows before the Ekka Rural Show last year!

All yer gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the target - its a piece of piss!! You don't even load your own cartridges - they comes in little boxes and ya don't have to steady yourself against the rollbar of the roo shootin ute when you reload!

Sometimes yer gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real
careful coz they break easy - it's not like fighting with Doug and Phil and
Jack and Boori and Steve and Muzza all at once like we do at home after the muster.

Turns out I'm not a bad boxer either and it looks like I'm the best the
platoon's got, and I've only been beaten by this one bloke from the
Engineers - he's 6 foot 5 and 15 stone and three pickhandles across the shoulders and as ya know I'm only 5 foot 7 and eight stone wringin' wet, but I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.

I can't complain about the Army - tell the
boys to get in quick before word gets around how bloody good it is.

Your loving daughter,

Jill


You could adjust it to suit any nation

Comonwealth humour to be sure.