Some Other Prisoners.
There is often so much similarity in the complaints made on both sides that the sufferings would seem to be very similar. I happened once, in a private hotel, to get into conversation with some German women who had been taken prisoner in East Africa. They were scarcely “military prisoners,” but they were taken prisoner in the ordinary operations of war. With the women were three children. A young baby was wizened and pitiable, a little boy of between three and four had evidently had his whole body covered with boils or abscesses, a little girl of perhaps five would have been a charming little creature, but for a large abscess on her forehead and big swellings under the eyes. I asked how it was the children were in this condition. The Belgians, by whom these women were originally taken prisoner, would not, I was told, supply any milk for the children. It may be said that the Belgian officials should be consulted on this point, and I am well aware that prisoners’ statements need corroboration. Do we, however, apply this rule in other cases? Are we careful to investigate newspaper reports of the statements of prisoners who have been in German hands, and should we suggest that the evidence of German officials should also be taken? The women struck me as singularly quiet, and unhysterical, and I must add, fair-minded. There were officials at times, they said, who were more humane, and provided milk on the quiet. Did they make any protests, I asked. “At first we did,” they answered, “but we were always told ‘You are prisoners, and have nothing to say.’” The condition of the children certainly suggested that they had suffered severely from malnutrition. This may indeed have been unavoidable, and not the fault of any one. I had a little further chat with one of the group, a very quiet woman, whose rather drawn, set face showed that she had passed through hard times. It was a little pathetic to me to note how sincerely she was convinced of the superior virtues of her side. “In the earlier days of the war when we had English prisoners,” she said, “they were always well fed, even though we went short. Our Commandant always made a point of seeing that they were well provided for.” There was in the quiet, rather weary voice just a gentle shade of reproach, and that was all. I have not the slightest doubt that the woman was perfectly sincere. I made only the very obvious remark that it seemed to me there were good and bad on both sides, and that some officials behaved well, and some not well. It was a mistake to generalise and think all was ill on the other side and all was well on one’s own. She saw fairness in this view, I think. There was a mutual approach, and a growing kindliness. I felt then, and feel more strongly now, that kindness cannot grow out of merely aggressive patriotism.