APPENDIX III
I give below enough of the Telepathy Code used by Hill and myself to show the system on which we worked. The portion here given is about one-sixth of the whole code.
| THIS (1) | THING (2) | WHAT I HAVE HERE (3) | ARTICLE (4) | ONE (5) | ||
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| (0) A | Yes | Watch | Chain | Key | Ring | Strap |
| M | I want you to tell me | |||||
| (¼) B | Thanks | Pin | Nail | Screw | Buckle | Belt |
| N | Will you say? | |||||
| (½) C | Thank you | Button | Badge | Star | Crown | Medal |
| O | Bones | |||||
| (1) D | Well | Banknote | Coin | Purse | Pocket-book | Spectacles |
| P | I want you to tell us | |||||
| (2) E | All right | Handkerchief | Tie | Tie-clip | Cap | Scarf |
| Q | Say | |||||
| (3) F | Quick | Glass | Cup | Mug | Bottle | Saucer |
| R | Come on | |||||
| (4) G | Quicker | Cork | Corkscrew | File | Tin-opener | Adze |
| B | Come along | |||||
| (5) H | Quickly | Matchbox | Match | Bit of wood | Stone | Earth |
| T | Come | |||||
| (6) I | Tell me | Pipe | Box | Pipe-cleaner | Tobacco | Case |
| U | Good | |||||
| (7) J | Tell us | Cigarette | Cig.-paper | Cig.-roller | Cig.-lighter | Cig.-holder |
| V | Very good | |||||
| (8) K | Can you tell me? | Pencil | Rubber | Fountain-pen | Nib | Charcoal |
| W | I want to know | |||||
| (9) L | Can you tell us? | Letter | Card | Envelope | Photo | Stamp |
| X | We want to know | |||||
| (10) | Will you tell me? | Book | Notebook | Paper | Ink | Ruler |
| (11) | Will you tell us? | Knife | Scissors | String | Wire | Rope |
| (12)Y | Do you know? | Candle | Lamp | Oil | Wick | Candlestick |
| (20)Z | Can you say? | Fruit | Flower | Vegetable | Grass | Leaf |
In order to indicate any article to me Hill asked the question in the horizontal column in which the article appeared, and added the word or words at the head of the perpendicular column. Thus:—
“Tell me what this is,” meant a pipe.
“Can you tell us what this article is?” meant a photograph.
“Yes, what’s this one?” meant a strap. And so on. (The italics indicate the key words.)
The table given shows eighty articles. By prefixing the word “now” to his question, Hill let me know he was referring to a second series of eighty articles. “Now, tell me what this is,” did not mean a “pipe,” but it referred to the article in the corresponding position in the second series. Similarly a prefix of “now then” referred to a third series. And so on. The questions were very much alike and it required an acute observer to notice that no two were exactly the same.
The addition of the words “in my hand” indicated that only a portion of the article in the list had been shown. Thus when Slim Jim produced the stump of a candle Hill’s question was, “Do you know what this is in my hand?”
Each question in the horizontal columns also stood for a letter of the alphabet, so that it was possible (though slow) to spell out the name of an article.
Both the questions in the horizontal columns and the headings of the vertical columns were used to indicate numbers. Thus, “Tell me quickly if you can say what this number is? Come along! Don’t you know it?” is 6 5 2 0 1 4 1 2.
We had key words for decimals, fractions, subtraction, addition, and for repetition of the last-named figure. We also had key words to indicate any officer or man in the camp.
If the same thing was handed up to Hill twice in succession the question could nearly always be varied in form. Thus a “pipe” is indicated either by “Tell me what this is” or “Good! What’s this?”
Finally we had a system for using the code without speaking at all, which we employed with success at a private séance in “Posh Castle,” but which is too intricate to describe here. An amusing result of our use of this alternative system was to bewilder completely those in the company who thought the message was conveyed by the form of Hill’s question to me. They argued (quite fallaciously), that because we could do it without speaking, therefore what Hill said to me when he did speak had nothing to do with my answers.
I ought, perhaps, to add that perfection in the use of the code involves a good deal of memory work and constant practice. Nothing but the blankness of our days in Yozgad and the necessity of keeping our minds from rusting could have excused the waste of time entailed by preparation for a thought-reading exhibition. It is hardly a fitting occupation for free men.
THE SILENCE OF
COLONEL BRAMBLE
By ANDRÉ MAUROIS. Second Edition. 5s. net.
“The Silence of Colonel Bramble is the best composite character sketch I have seen to show France what the English Gentleman at war is like ... much delightful humour.... It Is full of good stories.... The translator appears to have done his work wonderfully well.”—Westminster Gazette.
“This book has enjoyed a great success in France, and it will be an extraordinary thing if it is not equally successful here.... Those who do not already know the book in French, will lose nothing of its charm in English form. The humours of the mess room are inimitable.... The whole thing is real, alive, sympathetic; there is not a false touch in all its delicate glancing wit.... One need not be a Frenchman to appreciate its wisdom and its penetrating truth.”—Daily Telegraph.
“An excellent translation ... a gay and daring translation ... I laughed over its audacious humour.”—Star.
“This admirable French picture of English officers.”—Times.
“A triumph of sympathetic observation ... delightful book ... many moving passages.”—Daily Graphic.
“So good as to be no less amusing than the original.... This is one of the finest feats of modern translations that I know. The book gives one a better idea of the war than any other book I can recall.... Among many comical disputes the funniest is that about superstitions. That really is, in mess language, ‘A scream.’”—Daily Mail.
“The whole is of a piece charmingly harmonious in tone and closely woven together.... The book has a perfect ending.... Few living writers achieve so great a range of sentiment, with so uniformly light and unassuming a manner.”—New Statesman.
JOHN LANE, The Bodley Head, Vigo Street, W.
[1]. A list of the officers who were prisoners of war with us in Yozgad is given in [Appendix I].
[2]. Of course neither this nor any other of the conversations in the book claims to be a verbatim report of what was said. Such a thing would be difficult to give even after twenty-four hours—much more so after two years. These conversations are “true” in the sense that they are faithful reconstructions of my recollection of what took place. Every event mentioned in the book occurred. (See [footnote], p. 85.)
[3]. I believe the English language is indebted to Lieut. L.C.P. Tudway, R.N., for the invention of this word. A “posh” is a good-tempered cross between a riot and a rugby scrum. The object of the “poshers” is conjointly and severally to sit upon the victim and to pinch, smack, tickle, or otherwise torture him until he begs for mercy.
[4]. See [Appendix II].
[5]. The séance that follows is incidentally an example of a conversation with a person still alive, or, in the technical language of the séance room, “still on this side.”
[6]. Yok is the Turkish equivalent of “Na-poo” in Tommy’s French.
[7]. Yessack: Forbidden.
[8]. The conjuror was Lieutenant C. W. Hill, R.A.F., who ultimately became my partner for escape and whose better acquaintance the reader will make later on.
[9]. From now onwards O’Farrell, Matthews, and Price did not attend any of our séances, as communication was not allowed between the Schoolhouse and the Hospital House after dark. The séances that led up to trapping the Interpreter were conducted by Nightingale, Bishop, Hill, and myself, with Edmonds and Mundey as recorders, and numerous casual visitors.
[10]. It is true that the feat was eventually accomplished, and eight men led by Cochrane reached Cyprus in September 1918. The narrative of their adventures has been published, and is a splendid story of pluck and almost superhuman endurance, of wise and heroic leadership. But these qualities, which the party possessed in measure full to overflowing, would have availed them little had they not met with the stupendous luck that their courage deserved. It detracts not one whit from the splendour of their achievement that their effort was favoured by the Goddess of Fortune. And the reflection may bring some comfort to the eighteen others who started the same night—only to be recaptured—and to those wiseacres who remained behind.
[11]. Events prove we were perfectly correct in our anticipation of what the Turks would do in the event of an escape.
(1) After the attempted escape of Cochrane, Price, and Stoker from Afion Kara Hissar in 1916, the whole camp was confined for six weeks without exercise, in a church. (2) The escape of Bishop, Keeling, Tipton, and Sweet from Kastamouni in 1917 was followed by a very severe “strafing” of the whole camp.
(3) The big escape of twenty-six officers from Yozgad in August 1918 was followed by a camp “strafe.”
(4) The following Turkish Order, which was put up on our notice-board in Yozgad in October 1917 speaks for itself. I quote it verbatim:
“The stipulations of the Penal Military Statutes will be applied fully and severely to the officers or men Prisoners of War who will try to run away and will be caught and they will be confined in a special building in the district of Afion Kara Hissar. In (sic) the other hand their comrades will be deprived of all liberty and privileges. The prisoners of war in my camp are requested to take information of this communique.
”The Commandant.”
[12]. For the benefit of the curious our code-system is given in [Appendix III].
[13]. Complete records of all séances between February 2nd and April 26th were kept and smuggled out of Turkey. The above is a verbatim copy of the Pimple’s statement. From this point to Chapter XXIV. (where our written record ends) all questions put to, and answers given by, the Spook are quoted from these records. So, too, are the letters to and from the Turkish War Office at Constantinople. We have to thank Capt. O’Farrell, Capt. Matthews, Capt. Freeland, Capt. Miller, Lieut. Nightingale, Lieut. Hickman and others for the preservation of our documents and photographs.
[14]. The Senior Officer of the camp met me after I had regained my liberty. “Why on earth did you keep us in the dark, Jones?” he asked; “if you had only told us what you were up to we would have helped you.” “Would you, sir?” I replied. “I put it to you frankly: had we gone to you in February and said we were planning to do the things which we actually did, you would undoubtedly have regarded it as impossible, and used your authority to stop us.” “Yes,” he admitted, after a moment’s thought, “you’re right. I would.”
[15]. This is really a code sentence (code-word “Bonhil,” code Playfair). It was put in for our own protection should things go seriously against us at any future time. Decoded it reads: “Take note this is a leg pull against both Turks and camp.”
[16]. This report was sent by the Commandant to the Turkish War Office on 18th March, 1918, and was the first of a series of official documents dictated by the Spook.
[18]. The order is quoted in the [footnote]. p. 70.
[19]. Major Gilchrist was not alone in his admiration for the Commandant’s leniency. Major Peel, in recording the sentence in his account of the trial, adds the comment: “The Commandant seems to have behaved remarkably well over this.” See also Col. Maule’s letter to the Netherlands Ambassador at Constantinople quoted in Chapter XXX.
[20]. The “hockey pitch” was a piece of ground rather smaller than a tennis-court and surrounded by stone walls. Lack of space limited the size of the sides to four men.
[21]. Several of the photos in this volume were taken with this homemade camera. They were developed at Yozgad by Hill and Miller, who somehow got possession of the necessary chemicals.
[22]. After our “conviction” for telepathy Colonel Maule asked the spookers in the camp to refrain from further experiments.
[23]. Really to give us a “starved look” which might be ascribed to madness should we have to adopt the madness scheme, and in order to enable us to accuse the Commandant of starving us should enquiries come on the compassionate release plan. It could be made to serve either purpose.
[24]. The author has taken the liberty of altering the names in paragraphs 1, 3 and 4 of the Pimple’s letter, as he sees no necessity for making public the identity of these two ladies.
[25]. One of our principal assets was Raymond, which reached the camp about the end of February 1918. Moïse translated it to the Commandant, and read it himself, by order of the Spook.
[26]. The phrase is borrowed from Spink’s Armenian Phrase Book, which he compiled from a study of Lavengro and a dictionary.
[27]. See Raymond, pp. 360-361.
[28]. Such a secret organization of Armenians actually existed.
[29]. “Sup.”—“the Superior.” The Spook’s name for the Commandant.
[30]. Since the 14th, the Spook had controlled our diet, allowing us no meat, but “tomorrow” (20th March) was the Ski Club dinner, and we wanted a “bust” before going on to bare bread. We were starving in preparation for a medical examination, should the “escape” plan fail. We tried (by secret signal to Matthews) to stop Posh Castle from sending us food from the 14th March, but our friend Price insisted on continuing until after the big dinner at least, and would have gone on for ever in the face of any opposition but our own.
[31]. The greyhounds were expensive—about £T20 each, I believe.
[32]. Spink was the originator of ski-ing in Yozgad, and to his tact in dealing with the Commandant the credit of the Ski Club is due.
[33]. Really because time was getting short and we must soon face the doctors.
[34]. The curious will find a description in “450 Miles to Freedom.”
[35]. This, we believe, is the first instance in modern times of correspondence between a spook and a Government office.
[36]. A most unfortunate explanation, as events proved.
[37]. The telegram was dispatched from Constantinople on March 29th and reached Yozgad on the afternoon of April 1st. It was in cipher, and read as follows: “With reference to your letter of March 18th, 1334” (i.e., the report of the trial dictated by the Spook) “the two officers who have been communicating with the townspeople should be released from imprisonment, and their punishment should be to stop them writing letters to their relations for one month.”
[38]. See our previous arrangement with O’Farrell, p. 118.
[39]. Pure water is useful on a voyage to Cyprus.
[40]. See p. 188.
[41]. Acting under the Spook’s order, Moïse had previously cross-examined Doc. O’Farrell, who, by agreement with us, had shown confusion and hesitation when asked if he thought we were mad, and had finally denied our insanity.
[42]. Of course no such letters were ever written. Moïse was willing to lie as much as the Spook wanted.
[43]. We had to provide against the danger of independent enquiry by the doctors amongst our fellow-prisoners. Therefore, wherever possible, we distorted facts so that enquiry, if made, would reveal as a basis for our delusions some incident which had really occurred and which had (apparently) been misunderstood by us. Thus, in the present instance, Colbeck did threaten (jokingly, of course) to take us out by force when we refused his invitation to tea.
[44]. He did—a friendly visit to support Colbeck’s invitation to tea. At this visit he gave me permission to say what I liked about him to the Turks. I used it freely to name him as my principal “persecutor” and my “would-be murderer.”
[45]. This was founded on fact. The Turkish officials who were unpacking my parcel said waterproof sheets were “yessack” (forbidden), and seized it for their own use. A tug-of-war developed between me and the Cook for possession of the sheet, and when the officer in charge ordered me to surrender it, and showed signs of joining in the struggle, I cut it into ribbons to render it valueless to our enemies. This was in the early days, before the treasure-hunt began.
[46]. In point of fact, they did not get away until the night of August 7th-8th, and at the end of July, when the Spook’s guarantee expired, the plotters got a bad fright. The authors of “450 Miles to Freedom” say: “Unfortunately the Turks also appeared to have got wind of it (i.e., the intention to escape). For the last week of July, sentries were visited and awakened with unheard-of frequency. Even the Commandant himself occasionally visited the different houses after dark. In the case of one house an extra sentry was suddenly posted in the garden.” The intention to escape was really known to the Turks from the moment the Changri men arrived at Yozgad. Moïse informed me at Constantinople that the tunnel at Changri had been discovered and reported after our departure from Yozgad. I believe the sudden activity which alarmed our friends in July was due to the expiry of our guarantee. Hill and I apologize for not making the period four months—we did our best!
[47]. The performance was so amusing that I repeated it at every possible opportunity on our 120-mile road journey to Angora, and the poor Pimple was in and out of his cart like a Jack-in-the-box. To his credit be it said that he succeeded in getting back most of the notes I distributed so lavishly, and he was perfectly honest in returning them to us in Constantinople.
[48]. From the point of view of the professional medium the slower methods have another advantage. Very little ground is covered at a single table-rapping séance, and at the end of the allotted hour the sitter has usually a number of questions he still wishes to put. So he is likely to come back for a second guinea’s worth.
[49]. I apologise to the inhabitants of Togoland for comparing their music (whatever it may be) to the abominable noises made by our sentries.
[50]. Before leaving Yozgad we had come to an arrangement with Price. If questioned he was to say that while digging in the garden at the spot mentioned above he had come on a tin with a false bottom, on opening which he found a gold lira and a circular piece of paper with curious hieroglyphics on it. The lira he had kept (we gave him one to produce), but he had lost the paper.
[51]. A type of nomenclature common amongst Turkish peasantry. “Hassan’s boy Ahmed” was a very incongruous name for a Pasha.
[52]. I gave the name of a well-known Scottish expert on nervous diseases—an old college friend of mine. It had the effect I desired. Whether they looked him up afterwards in some medical list or whether, as is more probable, they already knew of his writings and his reputation in the treatment of nervous diseases, I do not know. But some days later the chief doctor, Mazhar Osman Bey, tried to question me about “the Doctor Bey, M——, of Glasgow.” The “of Glasgow” showed me my friend was known to them, so assuming as cunning a look as I could, I denied ever having heard the name before. The Chief smiled to himself and went away.
[53]. A pamphlet of his (later, when I had become his favourite patient, he presented me with an autograph copy of it) was entitled, Spiritism Aleyhindé (Against Spiritualism). So far as I could understand it (it was written in very technical Turkish), he sought to prove that the proper abode for spiritualists is a private asylum, and the so-called “subconscious” replies to questions given in automatic writing, table-rapping, etc., and similar phenomena, are as much due to nervous derangement as are the conversations with spirits indulged in by sufferers from G.P.I. He challenged me to write a reply to his pamphlet from the spiritualist point of view. Perhaps this book will do instead.
[54]. On the strength of Mazhar Osman Bey’s suggestion to learn Turkish I promptly ordered “a hundred books on the Turkish language,” and gave nobody any rest until I was provided with one (at my own expense, of course). It was Hagopian’s Conversation Grammar—a most excellent book. I had plenty of teachers—every patient in the hospital and most of the doctors were delighted to give me a lesson whenever I asked for one—and to the delight of Mazhar Osman Bey I made rapid strides in Turkish. Needless to say, a sane occupation of this sort was of the utmost value to me, and my only regret was that, as a madman, my study of this most interesting language had to be spasmodic and irregular. Still, I learned enough to become something of a “show patient,” and to gain from the Dutch Embassy at Constantinople, whose medical representatives visited us about July, the following quite unsolicited and rather amusing “testimonial.” It was sent as a “Report” by the Embassy, and reached my family through the India Office:—
“Haidar Pasha Hospital.—We found here Lieut. Henry Elias Jones, Artillery Battery (volunteer). The 10 of May, 1918, he was sent down from Yozgad with mental disturbance. He was quite content and we had a long talk with him. He wants to be a Turk, and mistrusts all English, and will not take anything if it comes from his parents or from England. He wants a Turkish uniform and will settle down in Turkey. Intelligent as he is, he learnt Turkish with an astonishing good accent in an exceedingly short time. He will probably be sent back to England with the first exchange.”
[55]. This referred to a large drawing of a monstrous machine which was placed in my (Jones’s) kit for the doctors to find. The machine was designed to flatten out capes, fill up bays, and uproot all islands, thereby straightening the coastline and making the sea safe for navigation. The power was to be derived from the weight of the Great Pyramid, which was to be removed from Egypt and placed on a raft 500 feet long. The raft would rise and fall with the motion of the waves, and operate an enormous knife which would cut away capes, islands, etc. One of the uses to which the machine was to be put was to slice under the island of Great Britain. We would then turn it over and start a new England on the other side!
[56]. Somewhere in Hill’s kit (I don’t know if the doctors ever saw it), was the following incoherent document, written in a very scrawly hand—
“I, Elias Henry Jones, Master of Arts Assistant Commissioner in the Indian Civil Service Deputy Commissioner of Kyaukse District Upper Burma and Headquarters Assistant Moulmein Lieutenant Indian Army Reserve of Officers in the Volunteer Artillery Battery born at Aberystwyth and educated at Glasgow University and Balliol College Oxford CERTIFY and PROMISE by ALMIGHTY GOD that if you will assist me in my great scheme and do everything I require of you including draw and inventions of MACHINERY I certainly will be converted by you and give up all wickedness as you say as soon as my great scheme is finished and until then you must help me with designs and drawings and inventions of NECESSARY MACHINERY.
“Signed E. H. JONES.”
[57]. I think our traps were on the whole more successful than those of the medical men. The most amusing, perhaps, was what we called “the chocolate test.” Chocolate at this time was practically unobtainable in Constantinople. Indeed, anything of that nature was immensely expensive. Now one of the junior doctors, who had a room in the hospital, had a sweet tooth. Hill and I had hoped for this, and had arranged the test before we entered the hospital.
I let it be known in the mad ward that we had a large supply of “stores” in the depot. (We had saved them up from parcels which arrived during our starvation period at Yozgad.) This aroused great enthusiasm amongst the other patients, who suggested they should be brought up. They were fetched by Ibrahim, the good-natured attendant who happened to be on duty at the time. When the case arrived I pretended to change my mind. I refused to allow it to be opened, because for all we knew the stores might be poisoned. A malingering epileptic, to whom I had promised some tea, said the doctor could examine them for us and find out if they contained poison or not. This was what we wanted. One of the junior doctors was then brought in, and pretended to examine the stores. He declared them all fit for human consumption. With my customary lavish generosity (generosity was one of my symptoms), I started handing tins of tea, coffee, sugar, etc., to all the patients, keeping nothing for myself. (A pound of tea in those days cost a thousand piastres—about £9.) The doctor stopped this mad act, took charge of the stores, and said he would issue them to Hill and myself little by little. He took them to his private room upstairs.
A week later, with the freedom of a lunatic, I burst into his room unannounced, and found him with his mouth full of our chocolate. He blushed, said he was “testing our chocolate for poison,” and asked me if I knew how many tins I had. I said I did not know at all. “You have two,” he said, looking relieved. (We really had ten, but he had already eaten eight, I suppose.) “And here they are.” He handed me two tins, assured me they were not poisoned, and told me to give one to Hill. He also gave me a little tea and a tin of condensed milk. That was all we ever saw of the stores. I pretended to forget about them, but used to make incursions into the private room to note the rate at which our junior doctor was getting through them. Hill and I were delighted at the success of our little plot, for we knew that this man at least would be anything but anxious to prove our sanity to his Chief, and as he was more often about the ward than any other doctor, the sacrifice was well worth while.
I purposely do not give his name. In the main he was a good fellow enough, and in the half-starved state of Constantinople the temptation to which he was subjected was very severe, while he was very young. But I hope that, like a good Mohammedan, he thoroughly enjoyed the tins of “Pork and Beans,” and that he suffered no indigestion from the bacon.
Later, when fresh parcels arrived, we tried the same trick with Chouaïe Bey, a new doctor whose attitude towards us we wanted to know. It failed utterly, I am glad to say, not because he suspected us, nor yet because his mouth did not water over the dainties, but because he was an exceedingly fine man in every way. It was only with immense difficulty that I got him to accept a tin of cocoa as a gift, and he insisted on repaying us by sending us delicacies from his private house. He was also the only doctor amongst them all who tried hard to induce me to send a note to my wife and relieve her anxiety by saying I was quite well. (I refused, because my wife knew this already.)
We tricked Chouaïe Bey in another way—I had kept up the old pretence of knowing no French, and had the pleasure of listening with a wooden face while he described our diseases to a friend.
[58]. I learned at Haidar Pasha that Hill’s medical history was never sent to Gumush Suyu, nor did the Gumush Suyu doctors ask for it, although they knew Hill had been two months under Mazhar Osman Bey. Hill’s transfer was made in obedience to an administrative order from the Turkish War Office, without the knowledge or concurrence of our own doctors, who were off duty when the order arrived. I was sent to Gumush Suyu at the same time as Hill, and was subjected to similar treatment. (My temperature on admission was 103° due to influenza.) By dint of making a thorough nuisance of myself to everybody, I succeeded in getting myself sent back to Haidar Pasha after thirty-six hours of Gumush Suyu, but failed to get them to send Hill with me. The reason for sending me back was stated in a note from the head doctor which said that Gumush Suyu hospital had neither the trained staff nor the accommodation necessary for mental cases. It amounts to this: The bold experimenters at Gumush Suyu were quite ready to practise their prentice theories on Hill, who was harmless and passive under their treatment as befitted his malady, but they had no desire to try their tricks on a lunatic who was active and possibly dangerous, like myself. When I pretended to take a violent dislike to one of the doctors, and tried to buy a knife from the sentry, they thought discretion the better part of valour. This was the sole reason why I was a “case for specialists,” while Hill was not.
[59]. Colonel F.E. Baines, I.M.S., the British medical officer who saw Hill at Psamatia, at once put in a strong protest in writing about Hill’s condition and treatment. It stated that Hill was suffering from dysentery and acute melancholia, and that he was dying through neglect, and that he should be sent to England at once. It ended with the threat that if Hill did die, Colonel Baines would hold the Turkish Government responsible for his death, and do his best to bring the responsibility home. The letter was a gallant challenge to the Turks from a man who was himself a prisoner. It was, of course, a perfectly bona fide expression of the Colonel’s professional opinion, and is a worthy example of the fearless way in which our medical men sought to do their duty. That Colonel Baines, too, was deceived is no reflection upon him. Another British doctor, also deceived, characterized Hill’s performance afterwards as “the most wonderful case of malingering he had ever heard of.”
[60]. The Embassy report was sent to my parents by the India Office in their letter M.35342 of October 30th, 1918, and is as follows:
“14th August, Psamatia. We found removed to Psamatia 2nd Lieut. C. W. Hill, R.F.C., mentioned in our first report on Gumush Suyu Hospital. As he is not taking any food and his insanity growing worse every day, we advised to send him back to England instantly together with Lieut. Jones of Haidar Pasha Hospital or to put him under special treatment.”
[61]. There were other portraits of Enver in the hospital, and when his Cabinet fell, about a month before the armistice, they were all taken down—except mine. On that occasion a Pasha—named, I think, Suliman Numan Pasha—came to the hospital, took down a life-size portrait of Enver, put his foot through it and danced on the fragments. His object was to try to dissociate himself from his former chief, and keep his job; but I believe he too “crashed.” Still, to me his object did not matter. How I secretly longed to join him in his dance!
[62]. A mistake. The charge on which we were convicted was “communication by telepathy.” See Major Gilchrist’s account of the trial, p. 107, Chapter X. There is nothing about “telepathy” in the Turkish Regulations.
[63]. The original sentence was “no walks.” Later the Commandant gave it out he would allow us only the regulation number of walks—one a week. Really, of course, we could have had as many as we pleased. We had three altogether, including the two treasure-hunts.
[64]. A mistake. The correct date is March 20th.
[65]. “School House” was another name for Posh Castle.
[66]. A mistake. The correct date is April 2nd.
[67]. The interview is described in Chapter XI., pp. [111]-114.
[68]. Compare Major Gilchrist’s pæan of praise, Chapter XI. at end, and Major Peel’s laudatory comment.
[69]. We thought the Colonel should have reported our imprisonment and the charge against us, in his monthly letter, whether he agreed with the Commandant or not.
[70]. By the Spook’s instructions. See Chapter XIX., p. [201].
[71]. We left the house on April 22nd. The notice appears to have remained.
[72]. In Chapter XIX., p. [207], the notice is quoted.
[73]. “Martyrs.” The camp was a bit wide of the mark, as usual.
[74]. This was also by the Spook’s orders.
[75]. Literally, “A red sow and six very small red porklings.”
[76]. During our air-raids on Constantinople, which usually took place at night, I used to spot the general direction of gun-flashes, etc. For the purpose of accurately marking down these anti-aircraft gun and mitrailleuse positions (in which I was fairly successful), and especially in the hope of locating a concealed munitions factory which several patients told me was hidden near “Katikeoy” (in which I failed), I frequently broke out of hospital. I usually got back without my absence being observed. Once I was nearly shot (by the sentry guarding a mitrailleuse concealed in the English cemetery on which I stumbled quite accidentally). Three times I was captured outside, twice by sentries and once by the gendarmerie. Once I escaped again from my captors, by diverting their attention with a tin of jam—I told them it was a bomb to bomb the English—on the other two occasions I was brought back to hospital, and each time used the same trick—raved and stormed, and said I must kill Baylay. On both these occasions the doctors drugged me, with trional and morphia, to quieten my nerves and put me to sleep. They ascribed my wanderings to my madness. So far as I know my real object was never suspected.
[77]. This knife for which I bellowed had a history which Nabi never tired of relating to me. According to him, H.M. King George V. had been the original owner. When our King was serving his country in the Navy, his ship came to Rhodes. A shoot was organized. Nabi was one of the beaters, and at the end of the day he asked that, instead of being paid, he should be given a memento of the occasion which he could keep. He got the knife—and I was perfectly safe in bellowing for it, because Nabi is so delightfully proud of the gift that he will never let it out of his possession.
[78]. Hill entered the bath at 3.30—five hours earlier.
[79]. It was a “Turkish” bath, but not well heated at this time because of the scarcity and high price of wood. It had, however, a glass roof, which helped to keep up the temperature.
[80]. A second of the three negatives was unfortunately lost by my friend, Captain Arthur Hickman, who was kindly bringing it back to England for me. This accounts for the fact that only one of the three photographs appears in this book.
[81]. The Pimple means twenty-six.
[82]. For the “ease” with which it was accomplished, see “450 Miles to Freedom.”
[83]. A mistake of the Pimple’s. At this time Colonel Maule was no longer senior officer of the camp.
[84]. A typically Turkish way of getting “demobbed.”
[85]. A quotation from the Spook. See Chapter XXIII., p. [245].
[86]. The Pimple means a telepathic message.
[87]. Spook’s orders again!
[88]. I.e., Kiazim Bey.
[89]. I.e., the Spook. The Pimple writes thus obscurely because of the censorship.
[90]. See Chapter XIII., #p. 136#.
[91]. I.e., the “Ruler of the World” story.
[92]. A suggestion of the Spook’s.
[93]. From his perusal, as censor, of my private letters to England, Moïse believed I was in telepathic touch with mediums at home. It is an amusing fact that one of my home correspondents, believing me to be genuinely interested in spiritualism (of course the letters were written for Moïse’s benefit), went to a medium and actually got a “message” about me. But the message referred to the very distant past, before I became a prisoner, and to a fact known to the sitter and several others. Had the medium been able to communicate my plan of escape to the sitter—a plan which must have interested all intelligent spooks—the money would have been well spent and I should certainly have believed in “telepathy.”
[94]. I.e., the Spook.
[95]. Kiazim was court-martialled by the Turks themselves. I do not know the result.
[96]. “The Sup.” was one of the Spook names for Kiazim Bey.
[97]. This was, of course, the photograph of the finding of the first clue, taken by Hill.
[98]. The incantation. The figure described is the author.
[99]. The Pimple, as a Spiritualist, has every right to believe the photograph was taken by OOO, but it would be interesting to know how he explained his belief to the Court.
[100]. Captain S.W. Miller, M.C., was a fellow-prisoner of war at Yozgad.
[101]. A typically spiritualistic view of an inconvenient truth.
[102]. Captain Forbes was one of the Kastamouni Incorrigibles. His version of the story appeared in the Glasgow Sunday Post. According to him the Spooks who guided Kiazim were those of “Napoleon” and “Osman the Conqueror.” As a matter of fact, “Napoleon” was on the side of OOO.
[103]. We promised in the train (on the way to hospital) that we would meet the Pimple again in Egypt so that he might become the “Ruler of the World.” (Chapter XXVI., p. [284].)
[104]. “Those questions,” i.e., spiritualism.
Transcriber’s Note
Errors in the text have been corrected where they can be reasonably attributed to the printer or editor, or where the same word appears as expected elsewhere.
The original text has unpaired double quotation marks which could not be corrected with any confidence.
There are multiple references to footnotes 4 (p. [36]), 24 (p. [140]), 92 (p. [341]), and 96 (p. [342]).
Corrections made to the text appear underlined as corrected text. The original text appears when the mouse hovers on the underlined word or phrase. The details of each correction are noted below.
| p. 31 | as if there’s nothing[’/”] | Corrected. |
| p. 36 | under one name or another, pumped[,] the sitter | Removed. |
| was the [usuall ittle/usual little] throng of spectators | Corrected. | |
| p. 50 | could spot your style,[’/”] | Corrected. |
| p. 66 | Any fresh mud or dampness on the revolver du[e] | Restored. |
| p. 67 | the banisters, with [e]very appearance of weakness. | Restored. |
| p. 69 | ground would hav[e] to be covered at night | Restored. |
| p. 76 | hands with their delicate [taper] fingers | Sic. |
| p. 81 | and I know it’s not that grub.[”] | Added. |
| p. 160 | —Lieut. Spink.[’]” | Added. |
| p. 192 | must be “[wropped] in mystery.” | Sic. |
| p. 206 | our main points simultaneously[.] | Added. |
| p. 210 | just read something about it.[”] | Added. |
| p. 227 | Please protect us[,/.] The Commandant is | Corrected. |
| p. 228 | [“]Your obedient servants, | Added. |
| p. 231 | and I noticed Captain Su[bh/hb]i Fahri | Transposed. |
| p. 237 | several British officers here know a little Turkish.[”] | Added. |
| p. 265 | clear recollections of [unnamable] tortures | Sic. |
| p. 290 | paratyp[l/h]oid, dysentery,” I said. | Corrected. |
| p. 308 | mor[d/n]ing following the Board Meeting | Corrected. |